


182 series (part 1)

by ythmir



Series: 182 series [1]
Category: Midnight Cinderella (Video Game), イケメン戦国 時をかける恋 | Ikemen Sengoku: Toki o Kakeru Koi (Visual Novel), 天下統一恋の乱 | Sakura Amidst Chaos | Samurai Love Ballad (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I will add more tags as I add more chapters, Magic AU, Modern AU, Other, Reader-Insert, Romance, Stream of Consciousness, Suspense, a lot of OCs - Freeform, a lot of headcanons, every day life, multiple AUs, oneshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 12:22:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 24,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16241534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ythmir/pseuds/ythmir
Summary: a collection of drabbles and one-shots from various otomes in an effort to practice different style narrations, POV, genre, the works. Ranges from fluff to angst to everyday slice of life.





	1. prologue

To write is to be something else entirely,  
even for the briefest fraction of a  
moment when you look  
and see  
everything for what they were,  
what they are,  
and what they could be

To write is to breathe

To write is life

We are nothing but the stories in our souls

\---------- (๑•̀ㅁ•́ฅ✧ --------------  
My aim is to write exactly one hundred and eighty-two mini fics/oneshots in different geners and POVs in my attempt to write myself (forcibly, with tears if i have to) out of writer's block. Ever since getting a full-time job, i've had a lot less time to write. this is my way to make sure i still get creative.

everything is posted first on my tumblr(ythmir-writes), and then re-posted here (a few days later) for a wider audience. i do not have any other website/social media account in which i post my works. please respect copyright :>

i am still OPEN to receiving prompts for this series. Please direct all requests to my tumblr. (send in a chara [MidCin, IkeSen, SLBP, HypMic] + a word and i will write something out of it. No guarantees to length, genre or POV)

please consider donating to my ko-fi :)


	2. moonviewing (IkeSen Kenshin Uesugi)

To her ears, she had gasped. She was however not quite sure if any gasp was supposed to sound as if it took its time to escape from her throat.

       But what else could she do except croon at the sight of the moon above her?

       She’d wished far too long far too often to see the sky again and now that she could, what else could she do except to stand and savor and sigh?

       “You’re smiling again.” He said.

       No admonishment. No irate tone.

       Just gentleness. The same kind that she had heard so often from him when others would hear only the cracking of ice.

       She turned and with her eyes she drank in the way the moon caressed his hair (yellow turning to silver) and the way the gentle light brought out his best features (green and blue shining with endearment). She took his hand. Prayed her voice remained steady so he could hear, so he could understand.

       “With you, under this sky, I could smile forever.”


	3. untitled (Alyn Crawford)

  “Ida, I have the files you – oh.” Alyn paused just as he had entered the Princess’ room. She was slumped over her desk, face turned towards the window. If it had been any other day, Alyn would have sprinted towards her to check if she was still alive. But he had been with her from the start of the whole affair and he knew that this was bound to happen.

       One can only go sleepless for so long.        

Besides, the steady rise and fall of her shoulders was all the proof he needed to know that finally she could at least catch some sleep.       

Alyn set down the documents he carried unto the nearest chair, careful not to wake her. Then, he grabbed her coat behind the door, made his way towards her desk to tuck her in and would have left without another peep, except -        

The sight of her sleeping face made his heart clench, made him stand beside her with his hand hovering gently above her head.       

Unguarded. Dreaming.  _Peaceful._   How long has it been since he last saw her like this? How long has it been since she was able to close her eyes, let the orange sun caress her face. He should have taken advantage of the countless times they’ve spent in the stables when she was just newly elected. Drink in the sight of her riding without worrying about when he would last see it. Peaceful times. Happier times.        

Times he sorely wished he could take back.        

Ida stirred. Alyn quickly drew back his hand, excuses already forming in the tip of his tongue but Ida did not wake, instead only angling herself better on her arm, exposing the documents she had been busy with.        

The regions of Wysteria in heavily coded text in case Stein intercepts their messengers and be privy to well-guarded numbers. Notes. Tallies. Rations. What was left of the standing infantry was already spread too thin. Their enemies need not know that.

Alyn frowned.        

Ida did not deserve this.        

Anguish and despair clawed at him from inside. Alyn had half his mind made up to go to the barracks and train his frustration out but with Ida so vulnerable, sunset hues gently painting her face, Alyn could not walk away.       

 So he stood there, looking at her, guarding her.       

Hoping at least her dreams could be happy.


	4. Papercut (Louis Howard)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> initially planned this to be like a normal thing but i couldn’t help myself so here is a quick look at Louis Howard in a modern fantasy AU fanfic i have been working on for months which is nowhere near complete.

The blood bloomed on the tip of her finger and Louis Howard found that he could not look away. His mouth was dry. His fingers trembled. If he could just take one sip, maybe -

“Louis!”

“I’m sorry.” Louis shook his head, took a step back. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Lila grabbed his wrist and Louis flinched, taking a half-step back.

At that, Lila stared at him.

Louis immediately schooled his features. He had been careless, let too much of himself show through the cracks already formed. He brought himself to full height, hoping the show of confidence could push away lingering thoughts. Push away unnecessary thoughts that could put both of them in danger. “I’m fine.” He repeated.

Lila’s face shifted from shock to confusion to suspicion. “You haven’t…”

She did not have to finish her sentence for Louis to understand. She was worried for him. Worried for his hunger. Worried that such a tiny and barely visible wound would be the thing to put a rift between them right after they have patched things up with the family and the coven.

“I haven’t what exactly?” Louis asked, feigning ignorance and putting in strength in his voice. 

“Don’t put up walls again.” Her grip only tightened around his wrist and Louis could feel the burn of her skin against his own, the spark of her magic clashing with his. “I’m worried about your health.”

And she was right to be worried, of course. It had been weeks since he last fed.

“I don’t have to eat.” He answered, He did not want her to worry now that they were so close to settling things. “At least, not yet.”

“You should.”

“The spell is more effective the hungrier I am, remember?” He said. “I can manage.”

“Louis –”

“It’s just a paper cut.”

“That’s just it.” Lila snapped, looking into his eyes as if she was searching for something. Louis forced himself not to look away and add to his growing shame. “It’s just a paper cut and you _knew_  before I could.”

But of course he would. Or rather, how could he not ? Even fully fed, he noticed every minute detail. Every beat of her heart, every tremor and lilt in her voice, the way she favored her left arm despite being right-handed. The small frown she had while they were concentrating on the tomes, flipping through the pages as they searched for the correct spell. Even how she looked at him as if she was boring holes into his soul when she was aggravated.

Like what she was doing now.

So of course he could not help but notice the subtle but distinct slash of paper on her skin, sensed the hurt faster than she had the time to register it. It was simply unfortunate that before he could stop himself, he had grabbed her hand a bit harsher than intended and that had spooked her.

And then he saw the blood.

And then he felt –

More things than were practical to admit.

“Lila,” Louis stripped his voice of its magic as he placed his other hand on top the one grabbing her wrist. “I’m sorry I’m worrying you. But we need that spell right now more than I need to feed. Once we’re done I promise I will eat.”

Lila seemed to stare at him forever, a myriad emotions passing through her face. Then, the steel in her eyes gave way to genuine concern. However, her grip refused to slacken. “I don’t want you hurt.”

It took everything in Louis not to place his hand on her head, smooth away her ruffled emotions, tell her he was sorry for pushing, to let him sink his teeth and –

“I won’t be.” He said. “Not from the spell. Not from the family or the coven either.”

_From you however, that is an entirely different matter._


	5. Summer (Giles Christophe)

The chilly spring mornings were long gone, replaced by an almost oppressive heat that made even the shortest walk to the convenience store down the block an arduous trek. Giles would have gladly stayed in the sweet embrace of air conditioning. 

But they had run out of ice cream. 

And he had bet on the wrong side of the coin. 

“It’s only fair.” Leo had told him, grinning from ear to ear and nearly shoving the tote bag into Giles’s crossed arms. 

Giles had refused to take it. “One more time. Toss it again.” 

“You picked the wrong side four times out of five.” Sid had been guffawing the entire time, wheezing as he clung to the edge of the table “Just go get the ice cream already.”

“The walk isn’t even ten minutes!” Leo had added.

“Ten minutes of pure unadulterated hell.” Giles had said through gritted teeth, making Leo and Sid laugh harder still.

It was not that Giles hated summer. As a matter of fact, he appreciated the longer days, the endless green, and took joy in seeing the colors that came back after winter robbed them from the earth. Only that if he was granted by the gods the opportunity to tweak any season, he would not hesitate to remove summer from the equation and have a longer spring and fall. 

Wysterian summer was the worst in the world, sometimes reaching a hundred degrees and was humid beyond compare. Summer rains, if there were any at all, did nothing to help with the heat except make it worse because of how short they were. 

Giles fantasized about how convenient the summers were in other countries. He should go on vacation to somewhere colder. Like Stein. 

He was barely halfway and he could already feel his skin prickling at the heat. The back of his shirt was already sticking to his back and somehow he felt like he was getting heatstroke. 

This was how he was going to die. Under the summer sun. Buying ice cream for his friends who somehow managed to rig a freaking coin toss.

“Overdramatic ass.” Giles admonished himself, hearing Sid and Leo’s laughter in his head. “Just get it over and done with.” 

He picked up his pace, turning around the corner and almost weeping at the sight of the 7-Eleven. He bought the ice cream (three tubs so there would be no excuse until sundown), lingered at the magazines just so he could recharge, and then started to muster the herculean effort it would take to go back outside. 

Somehow it was worse than he remembered. Somehow the sun seemed closer to the earth. Somehow, he just remembered that he forgot to lather on sunscreen.

“Giles?” 

Giles turned towards the voice, felt the gentle caress of cool air and the rush of heat as the convenience door was opened and closed, and saw the girl waving at him. “Hello, Lana.”

“I didn’t recognize you with your hair up.” Lana grinned. “Wow. Did you braid it yourself?”

“Yes.” 

“It looks amazing.” Lana stepped closer. Giles hoped he did not smell of sweat and despair. 

“Thank you.” 

“You should teach me how to do it next time.” Lana continued. “But more importantly, I’m shocked seeing you outside in this weather without being near the beach.”

Giles raised his tote bag. “Lost the coin toss.” 

“Ah.” Lana raised her own bag. “Same. I swear Elise rigged it.” 

“I accuse Leo of the exact same thing.” 

“Why are our friends like this?” Lana shook her head in mock exasperation. “We should just totally ditch them and -” Lana stopped, eyes widening in inspiration. “We should head for Alyn’s and make the meanest tallest ice cream cake in the shortest amount of time possible.” 

Giles grinned. “Send pictures for everyone else to salivate on?” 

“And pretend there’s still more but we ate all of it already.” Lana barked out a laugh, already turning on her heel. “Let’s go.” 

Giles followed her out, half-expecting to melt under the sun, for his skin to burn as punishment for leaving the comforting embrace of artificially cooled air. 

He didn’t. 

His feet felt lighter. The sun felt less cruel. The colors less harsher and somehow more vibrant than they already were.

“Race you to Alyn’s?”

Giles’ heart dropped. “It’s three blocks away.”

“Loser forfeits one tub!” Lana did not wait for him to agree.

Giles swore under his breath and tried to catch up. Lana knew he didn’t race. Lana knew he could literally keel over and die this time for real. He knew she knew and yet - 

Giles was also thinking that if losing the coin toss turned out to not be so bad after all, then maybe losing a tub of ice cream might not be so disastrous either.


	6. The Biggest Fool of Us All (Ikesen Hideyoshi Ikesen Mitsuhide)

Hideyoshi continued to struggle against the ropes. Mitsuhide would have given him points for the effort if he was still not nursing his jaw after connecting with Hideyoshi’s fist.

Genial smiles and bloody knuckles. That was how Mitsuhide would describe Hideyoshi. Ever since their lord had taken the monkey under his wing, Mitsuhide had been witness to Hideyoshi’s brute strength: twisted wrists, broken bones, kneecaps buckling under - bodies shattered under the sheer fierceness of the fight inside Hideyoshi.

Mitsuhide had initially pegged him as a ruffian. All brawn, no finesse. Another commoner dazzled by charisma with delusions that fighting with a blade was the same as any other brawl in the streets. But Hideyoshi had shown some smarts other than the common kind, and had a talent for strategy and genuine diplomacy.

A ruffian, but with potential then. Soon enough, blooming into a warlord in his own right.

For all his talents, the most stellar was his loyalty. A trait that was necessary and useful in their tumultuous times. Where it concerned their lord, to a fault even. Blinded, almost.

All of them were.

Or, had been. At least, until the bloody haori was wedged inbetween them and Hideyoshi caught him speaking with no less than the assassin, hands and blade still fresh and bloody.

A breath was all it took for Hideyoshi to lunge and attack like a thunder god. It made Mitsuhide’s instincts (always whispering, always scoffing) scream at him to run, that neither his rifle or blade would be fast enough to parry the attack; that he should go and escape, bide time when to appropriately strike back and and tell him that this was a long time coming and -

Too late!

It had not been a blade that had hit Mitsuhide but a fist. The punch had landed square on his face, made him stagger backwards and see stars. Another hit him before he could recover, and then another and another -

Mitsuhide had always wondered how it would be if Hideyoshi’s righteous fury finally descended upon him.

He found it unpleasant.

He found that it hurt.

Even in the places where he had not been hit.

Or rather especially in those places.

Still, in a way Mitsuhide was lucky. Hideyoshi, genial smiles and bloody knuckles, often let his feelings get ahead of him. The sight of a bloody haori, and the hands and blade covered with the same blood, had made him lose sense. If Mitsuhide had been in Hideyoshi’s place, fists would not have even been an option to take out an usurper.

It had taken all five of Mitsuhide’s men to subdue Hideyoshi and even then, it had proven difficult. A hard blow to his head had knocked him out but only temporarily. Five pairs of hands struggled to bind and carry him back to one of the safe houses deep inside the forest. And it was only when Hideyoshi was safely bound twice over and behind a makeshift cell did Mitsuhide dare to stand closer. With his hand on his short sword as a safety measure.

It was tense silence at first. Mitsuhide staring. Hideyoshi refusing to look at him and concentrating on trying to unbind the too tight ropes that chaffed and burned skin. Until Mitsuhide found he could not take it any more.

“I want to say that you shouldn’t bother.” Mitsuhide said. “But you’ve always been a stubborn man, Hideyoshi.” 

“Tell me it was a mistake.”

Mitsuhide stood stock still.

“Tell me, Mitsuhide!” Hideyoshi was screaming. “Tell me I saw wrong!”

Genial smiles. Bloody knuckles.

Loyal to a fault. Trusting despite all evidence.

The biggest fool of all of us, my lord.

“If it is any consolation, he did put up a struggle.” Mitsuhide sneered through his broken jaw.

“You bastard! You fucking traitor!” Hideyoshi’s eyes were deadly as they landed on him. “You betrayed him! You killed him!”

“Only technically.” Mitsuhide replied, the bloody haori flashing in his mind. “It was not exactly my hand that drove the blade in.”

Hideyoshi roared, as if he was trying to drown out Mitsuhide’s words. It was so easy to pick out the emotions even from that single scream. Resentment. Pain. Anger. Hurt.

Grief.

“You fucking bastard! You think that shit matters? Who drove the blade in like it’s a fucking guessing game - you betrayed us all! After everything he’s done for you! After everything that we’ve been through! You killed him! You fucking killed him!”

Mitsuhide only smiled.

Hideyoshi choked on disbelief.

“Stop screaming it or the deed is going to lose its sense of wonder.”

“You really think you can get away with this? You really think the others won’t go for you themselves? You think this rope can hold me?“ Hideyoshi’s feverish eyes glinted into something else. Mitsuhide would not have been surprised if Hideyoshi right then and there tore through the ropes through sheer will. But even with obvious herculean effort, the rope remained wound around him.

“Good luck with that then.” Mitsuhide said, lacing his words with carefree teasing, with what sounded like maddening casualness, that only made Hideyoshi’s anger peak into a frenzy.

“I’ll kill you for this.” Hideyoshi’s voice rumbled with promsie, seemed to shake the walls of the safehouse. He was all fury, all hate, all revenge - everything that Mitsuhide wanted him to be.

To make it easier.

“I know.” Mitsuhide replied, grin in place to hide everything else that seemed to spill. 

And I hope you do before they could.


	7. Pocket watch (Giles Christophe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (a quick looksee at Giles’ past in a modern fantasy AU i’ve been struggling with for months, indulge me)

 Giles woke up to the sound chopping wood. Thud pause thud a longer pause thud thud. The painful sound of someone obviously struggling with getting the axe through and it sounded wrong.   
    The rhythm was wrong.  
    Off.  
    As if the gears weren’t oiled enough and -  
    Giles bolted upright, found his head and the rest of his body did not like sudden movements. Pain shot through every part of him that could and could not move. He groaned as he swayed but he needed to see, needed to hear, needed to feel -   
    His legs wobbled beneath him and he toppled even before he could get out of bed. The room swam where he looked, ceiling and floors finding it difficult to stay put. Another jolt of pain, through his bandaged leg this time, and he almost screamed.  
He stifled it in his throat.  
    Focus. Focus on the pain. Hold. Release.   
    Breathe.  
    As the world evened out, Giles scanned the room. A bowl of water and towels. Blood (probably his) and fresh and bloodied bandages. Empty cans. Some broken windows. A ceiling that seemed both too high and too low all at once.   
    And his pocket watch at the bedside table.  
    Why hadn’t he looked there first?  
    Giles took it in his hand, cradled it against his chest, hoping against all hope that maybe it had survived, maybe after everything he’d endured, everything was going to be alight.  
    But the pocket watch in his hands stayed deadly still.  
    Giles felt tears, bile, and everything that was left inside him (if there was anything left at all) race each other out of his body. He swallowed bitterness and salt, choked on despair, let out a shaky breath, and opened the pocket watch.  
    Silver and metal scorched and tarnished and dented at places. Glass cracked, hands frozen, forever pointing towards the northern sky he would never see again. No comforting tick tick tick. No buzzing gears. No mechanical sound in his palm or everywhere else.  
    Beyond the bed, beyond the empty cabin, there was nothing. He could feel nothing. Not the scurry of rats or the rattling of wheels. Not the black smoke of engines and turbines. Not the electric buzz of lamplights or the screeching of trains on railroads or the constant clack-clack-clack of fingers on keyboard.  
     _Gone. Everything gone!_  
    Even his second heartbeat.  
    He closed his fingers around the pocket watch, clenched them so hard his arm hurt.  
    It was suddenly too easy to just collapse back on the bed. Suddenly too easy scream until his throat hurt. Suddenly too easy to snuff the last embers of power inside him and dissolve into the woods if they were willing to accept his urban tongue.  
    Then again, the woods offered little protection to the likes of him.  
     _Breathe. Hold it in. Release._  
    Giles repeated the words under his breath. Repeated them almost in time to the (un)rhythmic chopping of wood. Over and over, tracing the outline on his watch, a loop over a loop, until Giles slowly,  _slowly_ , opened his palm.  
    He could fix this.  
    He  _should_  fix this.


	8. Tea set (Nico Meier & Albert Burckhardt)

“Hey.”

Nico remained focused on his hands, gently tipping the kettle slightly over the cup, refusing to acknowledge Albert. If Nico had not been busy preparing tea for Giles, the Princess, and the Protean ambassadors, he would have stormed out of the kitchen in a flurry of insults and mean gestures.

As it were, however, Giles had asked for tea more than thirty minutes ago; longer time than was needed for water to boil. The tea was being expected. Nico was trapped.

“Stop being such a brat.” Albert stepped closer.

Nico finally looked up glaring. “I’m working.”

“Look, I know you’re angry – “

“That makes two of us.” Nico almost slammed the sugar jar down.

“But we need to keep calm about this.” Albert continued, tone level despite the angry line inbetween his brows.

Nico glared at him from his side of the table, crossed his arms. He wanted nothing more than to throw the freshly made tea at Albert but as always, the insufferably stoic knight  _had a point._

“Fine.” Nico spat. “Then  _you_ tell Giles we lost his favourite macaron themed tea set!”

“Broke, technically.”

“That does not make it  _any better!_ ”


	9. untitled #2 (IkeSen Mitsuhide)

There was little she would not do so that she could hold him instead of the pistol, flint already threatening to die out before she could fire the shot.

        “I will not ask again.” His voice was barely a whisper but it was all she could hear. “Tell me the truth.”

       She made no move.

       There were too many truths to choose from.

       How his silver hair glistened during the times they shared drinks in the garden under the full moon. How he could be so coy even when answering the most basic questions. How his eyes looked desolate when he thought he was alone.

       How his laughter had saved her. How his training had saved her. How he had been the sole grace she was never placed in the dungeons to begin with.

_And the most treacherous truth of them all -_

       How he had looked like the last man she could ever trust with her heart.

       He moved. Faster than she could follow. Faster than he had ever done during their years of training. She tried to take steps back, push him away with her weapon. But her shot went wild, missing him (did she even aim at all?) and he had taken the opportunity to swipe at her. Her pistol flew into the air and she was barely able to draw her short sword before he was upon her.

       She gritted her teeth.

       Mitsuhide’s hand was warm,  _warmer_ , as it pushed her hair from her face, cradled her head and  _yanked._  Pain made her see stars, forced her to look at him as the blade on her throat threatened to meet her nape.

       “You shouldn’t have sided with them.” He said, staring down at her with –  _loneliness?regret?anger?_  “You should have stayed with me.”

       “I just want… to go home.”

       “Fool.” Mitsuhide’s eyes narrowed as he hissed his admonition, grip tightening. “I would have made a home for you.”  


	10. untitled #3 (original) (a sorcerer meets his dragon)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: im not sure if i should include this in ao3 as this is an original work, tho not a direct portion of my original WIP. however, for the sake of posting the entire of my 182 series, i'll be including it

**the first time he knew it was w r o n g**

       i)     fifteen minutes in and yet he still stood under the showerhead like a

              statue, steam wafting from scalding water and his skin. His eyes never

              left his hands and when he closed them he could still feel

       ii)    the softness of her hair, the way her spine yearned to escape skin.

              scales littering her body like stars, and the all too familiar sharpness of

              her teeth pressing down on his wrist

  **the second time he couldn’t r u n**

       iii)   he thought he knew what he was getting into, conveniently forgetting

              that more often than not lived truths were far harder to survive, far

              harder to erase from memories than the ones he borrowed from the

              pigeons or dogs when he was refused sleep

       iv)  and now no matter how much he rubbed his hands, ran them

             up and down his arms, scratched at his neck and face and back,

             the memories were too sharp, too vivid, too  _there_  for him to escape

       v)    but it did not hurt so much if he allows himself surrender

  **the third time he let himself _s i n k_**

     vi)    her claws tracing his skin, counting his scars one by one, naming

             them in a way that told him she owned them now, that they were

             as much on her skin as his now. Golden eyes simmering hunger as

             she watched him writhe and struggle to keep pace

    vii)   it should have burned him. It should have devoured his flesh and

            cooked him alive yet he was standing under the hot water

            like it was nothing because nothing sears like hellfire from a dragon’s

            mouth and

    **He ~~(they)~~  should be d e a d.**

         That he was not ate at him as he stood under the shower, cleaning

          him of the blood and gore and the last of the dinner he didn’t want to keep

         But it could not clean him of her

 


	11. Anger (IkeSen Mitsunari)

“No!”

The refusal was loud, firm, and had come from the very person that Hideyoshi had predicted it would.

There was no denying the panic and anxiety that Mitsunari Ishida was experiencing as Ieyasu laid down the final plan. It was not the best one that they had and it was definitely not what Mitsunari had calculated and offered as an option. As a matter of fact, it was the complete opposite.

But it was simpler. And at the moment, simple was best.

Ieyasu and Masamune knew Mitsunari would object too. They had not discussed amongst themselves what to do should it happen in the same way that no one discussed if they should use an umbrella while it rained. Their faces were passive; neither were stunned to see Mitsunari’s smile vanish from his face, replaced by a grim frowning line. Sharp, like a blade.

It hurt Hideyoshi to see him like this.

“It’s final.” Ieyasu said, sighing in the same way he always did, as if they were not bunkered in a fortress so far removed from reinforcements. “We stay. We wait. We live.”

“I don’t understand.” Mitsunari was blinking rapidly, confusion and anger switching places with the way he frowned. His eyes darted around the map. “This isn’t what we came up with yesterday. I thought we were – ”

“You thought wrong.” Ieyasu said. Any other day, Hideyoshi knew that Ieyasu’s dismissiveness would not be real. But there was now an edge to his tone that told Hideyoshi even Ieyasu was exasperated with the situation they were facing and perhaps even more exasperated that he had been given the near impossible task of trying to preserve the fortress.

“Mitsunari, we’re not abandoning anyone.” Masamune said. “We simply can’t risk losing what we have right now to go with what you suggested.”

“But I…” Mitsunari faltered. “I did the calculations… I incorporated all the data we’ve gathered since beginning the campaign and ran them through multiple scenarios.”

No one spoke and this prompted Mitsunari to look up at the three of them, his eyes widening at some realization.

Hideyoshi felt his gut twist in guilt. “Mitsunari…”

“The numbers tell me the same thing.” Mitsunari’s voice grew louder with each word.  “Each and every probability ends in the same conclusion. If we wait, we die. If we do not mobilize, Mai dies.

“But if we move, then against even the worst case scenario we might just be able to – ”

“No.” Ieyasu’s voice was quiet in comparison but the word dropped like a boulder into a pond. “No moving. We stay here.”

Mitsunari opened and closed his mouth several times, his face contorted into something different each time. “Please reconsider, Lord Ieyasu.”

“You are impossibly obtuse.”

“I don’t make mistakes in what I do.”

“Mitsunari…” Masamune said.

“Excuse me?” Ieyasu, who had been turning away, stopped.

“I don’t make mistakes.” Mitsunari seemed to have found ground in that statement, and also something else.

Hideyoshi could see the tension Mitsunari was doing his best to contain.  

Mitsunari’s left hand, which was usually so relaxed, so at ease, was gripping his katana so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

A glance told Hideyoshi that Masamune saw it too.

“And you think I do?” Ieyasu asked.

Mitsunari did not even flinch. “If we are going to go by history, then – ”

“Nobody wanted for this to happen.” Ieyasu rounded on him, baring his teeth. “And regardless of who made the most mistakes, Lord Nobunaga left me in charge of this front.”

Masamune placed a hand on Ieyasu’s shoulder but his eyes were on Mitsunari. “Calm down.”

Ieyasu shrugged him off. “I will fulfil my duty to protect this fortress. Your  _calculations_  directly runs counter to that duty and I will die before I see it executed.”

Mitsunari was undeterred. “I am not asking you to renege on your responsibility. Only that if we are to set up a counter-attack as I explained, we can most certainly turn the tide.”

Ieyasu was shaking his head. “It’s reckless and stupid and – ”

“It’s not reckless at all.” Mitsunari pressed, taking a step forward as if he could physically imprint upon them the importance of his point. “Lord Ieyasu, you know I’ve done everything – !”

“Mitsunari – ” Hideyoshi tried to interject again but Mitsunari shook his head wildly, stopping Hideyoshi in his tracks.

“I am begging you all to reconsider!” Hideyoshi saw that Mitsunari’s hand never left his katana, his thumb poised to draw the blade. “Adjusting the numbers of our risk by a minimal amount would lead to an overwhelming victory for the Oda –!”

“Is it really for the Oda?” Ieyasu shot back. “Or is it just for Mai?”

“She is the princess our lord has sworn to protect and we have not -!”

Ieyasu rolled his eyes. “I’m not allowing you to risk three thousand men for your infatuation.”

“There will never be another chance! We go now or we will lose our chance to save her!” Mitsunari retorted, and Hideyoshi could see Masamune at the corner of his eyes shifting towards Mitsunari.

Ieyasu stood firm. “No.”

“Lord Ieyasu!”

“I said,  _no._ ”

“Lord Ieyasu, you love her just as much as I do!” Mitsunari snarled, almost masking the audible click of a katana escaping its sheath. “And you know as well as I do that  _three thousand is_   _nothing_   _compared – !_ ”

_Thwack!_

Hideyoshi did not know which was more frightening.

The fact that Ieyasu, who had never raised his hand against anyone, backhanded Mitsunari so hard it sounded almost like a gunshot. Or, the fact that Mitsunari, who had always been so amiable, took the value of three thousand men and weighed it as nothing.

Hideyoshi did not want to know.


	12. Whisper (Robert Branche)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnight Cinderella / magic AU

“Wait.”

The word was more a gasp than a command but there had always been a peculiar tone in Robert’s voice that made others stop to hear him out. Even as he lay gasping for breath, his voice more air and less and less of an actual whisper, it was there. A slather of charm. A drop of power.

She knew better than to give in, knew better than to satisfy him with any kind of response that she had heard him. But her hands stopped regardless and the shovel paused mid swing.

“What?”

He tried to smile but it quickly turned into a grimace as he hoisted himself up on his elbows. By the time he managed, he was panting. “I’ll humor you… One last… question.”

“Princess…” A warning came from Giles who had moved to stand beside her. His arm outstretched protectively, hand already curled in a fist, poised and ready to make a blow. “End this now.”

“Princess…” Robert’s voice now, the barest hints of a push.

She had always thought that Robert was special. He had travelled the world, painted stunning portraits of monarchs and landscapes far beyond the walls of Wysteria. His wisdom was sought even by Steiner Kings who refused foreigners entry into their inner cities. As her tutor when she was a child, he was the epitome of knowledge. As part of her team of advisers when she ascended the throne, he was a man with a unique kind of persuasion.

The perfect envoy. The unfailing diplomat.

The master puppeteer.

“No.” Giles insisted. “No more lies.”

Robert ignored him. “I know… if I could take it… you’d ask me… so much more.”

That was true. There were so many questions she wanted to hurl at him, so many answers that she wanted to squeeze out of him dry. Where did he get it? What did he have to sacrifice to achieve what he had. How many people did he have to step on to climb the chaotic ladder he had built as his form of twisted entertainment?

Did he even truly love her at all?

If only answers could be plucked in the same way that flowers could be plucked from the fields, or harvested once green turned to gold during the changing seasons. If only answers had easily bloomed the same way pain bloomed in every wound, in every trust broken thereafter, in every dastardly secret uncovered and unturned.

If only answers had come to her easily as it had always seemed to come to Robert, who knew the who and when and the how whenever he seemingly needed it to stay three steps ahead, producing answers out of thin air as if it was a magic trick.

And as it turned out, it had been.

Robert’s best kept secret. The one true reason he was able to escape the fall of Bergenia alive.

Unfortunately, by the time they realized it, it was too late.

Alyn. Leo. Albert. Rayvis. All of them lost because she could not cull enough answers from those she had forced to talk. Every answer that she had claimed came at a cost. Every answer yielded to her took more than she could repay a hundred years over. She would have paid double - triple even - just so she could bring them all back. Her closest friends and hundred others dead because she did not have the strength to save them back then, because she did not have the kind of voice that Robert did.

Now, she had them both. Now, she could converse with him without falling into any kind of spell. None of Robert’s power could hurt her anymore, and those she had taken under her wing.

And what little she have left of her kingdom, she would protect.

“All right.” She said finally and did not miss Robert’s grin. Despite laying on dirt, bloody and bruised and powerless, the way he looked at her was the look of a king. Confident, almost arrogant.

Not for long.

“One last question.” She continued.

“Anything.”

“Tell me how you want to die.”


	13. Painting (IkeSen Mitsunari)

“You painted this all by yourself?”

“Yes.” She answered, scratching at her cheek. “On and off since I arrived here in Azuchi. What do you think?”

It was Mitsunari’s turn to smile a bit awkwardly, chuckling. “It may sound silly but to be completely honest, it feels warm.” He turned back to the painting, a soft emotion crossing his eyes. “Looking at it makes me feel like I’m home.”

“It was my home.” She said before she could stop himself.

“Was?” Mitsunari turned to look at her, a crease of worry between his brows. “What happened?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Was your village destroyed? The surrounding lands occupied by the Takeda?” 

“Maybe.” She thought about it. “I’m not sure, though. It’s been too long since I last went back.”

Mitsunari frowned now. “You never talked about your homeland and I assumed it was a private matter. I’m sorry if I asked too much just now.” 

“It’s okay.” She felt her throat catch. “It’s not like it’s such a big deal to me, anyway.”

“Do you miss it?”

“No.” The answer came too quick, too fast, and for a moment she was worried. Did that make it sound like she did not care? Did that make it sound like she was trying to cover something up? Was he going to ask more questions she could not answer?

She was about to say something else to change the topic but all of a sudden Mitsunari took her hand in his, eyes still on the painting. All he did was hold her and yet it sent her mind reeling.

She wondered if he could feel through her palm how fast her heart was beating for him - 

“Does that mean you can stay?”

\- only for heart to almost grind to a halt. She did not know how to answer that.

“I want you to stay.” Mitsunari said, and it sounded like a prayer, his thumb caressing the back of her hand.

“Mitsunari…” She began, tried to find the words, and found that couldn’t continue, couldn’t find a short enough sentence in which she could squeeze in the emotions in her chest.

And also because she’d rather not bring herself to lie to him anymore than she already had.

That was why she had always shown Mitsunari her painting first before anyone else. Initially, it had been because Mitsunari was the first person to welcome her in Azuchi when everyone else had pointed a blade at her neck. She welcomed his friendliness and calculating mind. Then it was because Mitsunari had been more appreciative of her work than the other warlords.

Soon, it turned into something different. She began to crave these private moments with him. 

Talking about her paintings with Mitsunari had always made her feel somehow a bit more authentic. That she was not just some drifter bound to be swallowed by another timeslip. That Mitsunari had seen every painting, every rough sketch, and every beginning canvass after all these months made her more and more like she had an anchor. That someone was going to miss her if she were to suddenly disappear. 

And most importantly, at least through her paintings, she could tell him the truth. And she wanted badly to tell the truth except - 

Would he understand? 

Would she be able to accept fate if he didn’t?

“Even if it’s only for a little while longer.” He looked at her now, eyes wavering as he waited for her answer. “Stay with us.”

Her throat felt dry.

“Stay with me.”

And she found she could not refuse. “All right.” She relented, twining her fingers around his, lying one last time for him, rationalizing in her mind that it was for his smile and since there was never any reasoning to be had with a timeslip to begin with. 

“Just for a bit longer, then.” She tightened her hold on his hand. “At least, long enough for me to paint you.”


	14. Redemption (IkeSen Nobunaga)

Nobunaga Oda was not surprised to find her servants already waiting to attend to him when he turned around the clearing. It did however, gave him a sense of pride to be reminded that she was being attended to by the best people that Azuchi could spare during these turbulent times. As he and Hideyoshi Toyotomi went past the gates and into her residence, they all bowed in unison.

“You grace us with your presence, my lords.” Tomo, the head servant said, the first to raise her head so she could give him a proper greeting. She was old enough to be his mother but her back was as straight as his youngest soldiers. “To be honest though we did not expect you for a full day.”

As he and Hideyoshi dismounted, their horses and escorts were both immediately steered towards their respective places, the servants buzzing around them dutifully to ease their arrival.

“The weather has been kind.” Hideyoshi answered for him. He was smiling as he gave the compound a sweeping look. “I’m glad to see winter has not left you worse for wear.”

“No, my lord.” Tomo dipped her head, but a proud smile was on her lips. “We have prepared well for it. Aside from the rations provided for us by Lord Oda, we made sure to stock on game captured through the forest.”

Hideyoshi nodded, satisfied. “Thank you for all your hard work in keeping Haruka safe.”

“It is as much our duty as it is our pleasure.” All the remaining servants bowed their heads again at the mention of Haruka. “She is the beloved Princess of Azuchi, after all.”

Tomo led them into the residence. Nobunaga noted the efficiency of the other servants around the house. He had chosen Tomo to be head housekeeper for the very specific reason that she was as prudent as she was loyal to Haruka. Hearing her speak of the preparations they had done for winter, and seeing their reverence for Haruka, he felt reassured he had made the right choice.

“Where is she?” Nobunaga asked.

“Lady Haruka is making last minute preparations for tea service. She wishes that you meet her at the veranda by the inner gardens.”

Nobunaga frowned.

“Tea service?” Hideyoshi asked, just as surprised.

“Yes, Lady Haruka has been practicing for weeks.” The pride was replaced by joy as Haruka beamed at them. “She is very eager to serve my lords the tea herself.”

Nobunaga and Hideyoshi exchanged looks, to which Nobunaga could only shrug. He had not read from any of her letters that she was being a busybody.

“This way, my lords.” Tomo prompted them to continue.

The compound had several gardens and it seemed that the one where Haruka intended to play host for them was biggest one beside the inner rooms. As Tomo led the way, Hideyoshi’s head swivelled here and there to take note of the status of the house, checking the beams and the door frames as he often did even at Azuchi Castle, taking stock of what needed repairs or if something was out of place or perhaps needed replacement.

Nobunaga knew he should be doing the same but it already took everything in him to keep a steady pace behind Tomo. His mind raced at the possibility of tea service with Haruka after weeks of not being able to see her. What was she thinking offering to serve them tea herself? What would her expression be like if Hideyoshi noted some irregularities to her ceremony? Then again, he need not be too worried that Hideyoshi - of all people - would be mean to her but what if something happened and it hurt her?

He wanted to hasten his steps so he could see her soonest. He practically knew the layout of the entire residence like the lines on the palm of his hand and he of course knew how to get to all the gardens even if he were to be blindfolded and spun around thrice. He did not need to follow Tomo to know where they were being led.

He did after all design the layout of the house with Haruka.

But this was not Azuchi. This was not one of his houses or his castles, or even the house of a daimyo serving under him. This was  _her_ residence. _Her home_. His gift to her to help ease her into her new life and escape from the turmoil of the war that was so loudly banging at the very borders of his territories.

He had needed her far away from it all, far far away where no one can ever harm her and where she does not have to see –

“My lord?” Hideyoshi prompted. “Is something the matter?”

“Nothing.” Nobunaga answered, realizing he had stopped walking to look back at one of the rooms they have passed by.

It was the library. He could remember how he and Haruka had spent most of their time there while the house around them was built. Lazy afternoons spent huddled around each other; her with her novels and politics, and him with his books on strategy and foreign affairs.

That had been one of the requests she had made when he offered the house to her. A library. Not just an ordinary study but a spacious room lined with multiple shelves and the tables and chairs the Europeans preferred. It made her feel nostalgic, she had claimed. Made her feel safe.

And he would do everything to keep making her safe.

It had been one of many rooms that they used as a refuge when Nobunaga could still deny that their territories were not being pulled apart at the seams. They would spend hours upon hours there, trying to forget the world around them and the pain that it had caused them. Too many deaths. Too many ravaged homes and villages. Too many for either of them to count.

It had been a blessing and a curse to them both when he had introduce her to military tactics.

He wondered if he opened the room would it be as well-used as he had left it? He could remember the late nights where they would pore over scrolls of strategy, trying their best to outwit the Takeda who had too much support despite their little numbers. Or the time they had strategized to outmaneuver Kennyo who was too good a puppetmaster to be fought face-to-face.

Or, would Nobunaga find it untouched, dust covering each and every book he had spent reading with her; each page she had so delicately turned with her fingers, eager to learn something new, now forever bound frozen and never to be opened again. Scrolls thrown to the floor. Tomes desecrated in her rage and agony.

“Lady Haruka has requested a new set of books.” Tomo said, her tone careful, and Nobunaga wondered what emotions he had let slip on his face. “This time she requested for books concerning different species of plants sent over by European traders. She says she miss them.”

“Does she?” Hideyoshi asked. “Has Haruka even seen foreign plants before?”

“From her homeland.” Nobunaga answered, turning away from the door and leading the way now. “She told me a lot of the foreigners brought fascinating seeds with them.”

Nobunaga strained his eyes forward as they continued the rest of the short walk. Tomo then ushered them into a large, spacious room where servants had already prepared the cushions and small tables.

Hideyoshi sank into one of the cushions. Nobunaga sat across him, taking in the view of the garden. It was mostly barren with winter still holding on with the last of its frozen tendrils. But still it was well-tended to. A single cherry tree was in the far corner, very eager for the seasons to fully change into spring. The rest of the fauna were just as ready to blossom, a particular red bush adamantly keeping its color despite hints of snow still on the gray horizon.

“I missed this kind of quiet.” Hideyoshi finally said. “It’s always shouting and cannon fire now, if not raucous singing in camp.”

“Masamune will not like how you describe his melodious tunes.” Nobunaga chided him. “He’s doing his best.”

Hideyoshi laughed “We all are, my lord. Masamune could do better.”

“All of us could do better.” Nobunaga could hear the wistfulness even in his own tone. He shook his head, not missing the look that Hideyoshi was giving him.

“My lord,” Hideyoshi said, hesitating. “I know you’ve been carrying it all this time but I believe - ”

The rest of Hideyoshi’s words died in his throat as both of them heard the unmistakable sound of Haruka’s footsteps along with Tomo’s.

The door opened and Haruka burst in as much as she could while clinging to Tomo’s arm. “Nobunaga! Hideyoshi! I’m glad you two made it!”

Hideyoshi stood up first. “Haruka! It’s been too long.”

“Sure has.” Haruka said, the joy in her voice unmistakable. “And you’re even here early! Which you should be because you two have too much backlog gossip to share.”

“Is that how you see me now? A rumor mongerer?” Hideyoshi pretended to be crestfallen.

“I’ve heard worse titles for the renowned Hideyoshi and his thousand lovers!” Haruka said.

“You hurt my feelings. I will never recover.”

She waved him away with a hand. “No more with you now, I can’t hear Nobunaga. Nobunaga? Are you there?”

Nobunaga did not understand how that one sentence could suddenly make him break out in cold sweat. How despite seeing Haruka standing before him, he could see with vivid clarity how she had fallen unto the ground, bleeding profusely, screaming at him in agony as the world around them turned black.

“Nobunaga, are you here or have you died upon seeing me in my best kimono?”

“I’m here, Haruka.” He called to her, and he saw her face light up at the sound of his voice. He opened his arms and waited as Haruka was guided to him by Hideyoshi. When she was within his reach, he quickly enveloped her into a firm hug.

“I’m not dead, you see.” He said, trying to inject as much cheer as he could into his voice. “Just speechless at your beauty.”

Haruka grinned from ear to ear, her blush somehow starker than it had been. “You should be. I sewed it myself!”

“Really?” Hideyoshi and Nobunga asked at the same time.

“Yes. It takes longer though and I have to ask Tomo if I’m using the right colors. But I’m glad I’m able to do it again.”

“As to be expected of you.” Nobunaga said after a while. “You never cease to amaze me.”

“I’m blind, not disabled.”

The comment stung Nobunaga more than he cared to hide and the room fell into an uneasy silence. Hideyoshi seemed to tremble beside him.

“I know.” Nobunaga hugged her tighter, bringing her face to his chest. “I know.”

“Tut tut. Is that regret and pity I hear in you voice?” Haruka asked in mock anger. “It’s not been five minutes in and here we all are playing sorry-you’re-blind-now-Haruka.” She made a face. “I thought we were over that five months ago?”

Nobunaga saw Hideyoshi look at him. “Haruka…”

“Nope.” Haruka raised a hand to stop him. How she managed to touch his lips, he was not sure but he relished the feel of her palm on his lips. “No apologies. No sorry speeches. We’re here for tea and sweets. And both of you will be blown away by my newfound technique! Like I said, blind and not crippled!”

She turned her head. “Tomo, please prepare the pottery.”

“Yes, my lady.”

It was all idle chatter after as Tomo and the maids brought in the tea set so Haruka could serve them tea. Nobunaga missed how easily Haruka could dispel awkwardness with her teasing. He missed hearing her laugh beside him. Missed being able to touch her and feel that she was real and not some phantom pain he had locked inside his heart. He missed the voice, the way she played with her sleeves when they fell too low her wrists and the way she would throw her head back to laugh.

He missed her. And that was all there was to it.

Azuchi was quieter and less busy with her nestled here. And if Nobunaga was going to be completely honest, more haunted than it ever was going to be. There was never a night in the tenshu that he did not miss her presence. Never a night he did not dream of all the blood spilled on the floor. Not even her bearsace, safe in its place with his armor, could dispel the loneliness or the ghosts that settled there when she had gone.

“You’re spacing out again!” Haruka tapped her fingers impatiently on the mat, startling him. “Sheesh, now that you’re here, the least you could do is pretend you’re listening. Or at least, make some sort of noise that tells me you haven’t left us.”

_Don’t leave me Nobunaga stay here stay with me I’m scared I’m so scared please please don’t go don’t let go of my hand - Nobunaga! Nobunaga! Where are you? I can’t feel my hands Nobunaga no! I can’t see you!! Nobunaga - I can’t see you I can’t see you I can’t see you I can’t see !!_

“I’m sorry.” Nobunaga said, and he wondered if it was to the Haruka now, white-eyed and blind, or to the Haruka he kept seeing at the most inopportune moments, lying on the ground and screaming and bleeding.

“Hey, now.” Haruka seemed to have sense his uneasiness. “Like I said, no sorry speeches, Nobunaga. Your letters are filled enough with them.”

He reached out to touch her face. “I just missed you so much. I can’t help but stare.”

Haruka rubbed her cheek against his palm. “I missed you too. Are you frowning?” Her eyes never left his face. “Tell me, Hideyoshi, is he frowning? That little pout he always does when he’s being sincere but trying not to be.”

Hideyoshi’s face was torn yet his tone was cheerful. He had always been the better actor among them. “He’s giving you the puppy-eyed look.”

Haruka laughed. “I knew it.”

Nobunaga brushed his finger across her cheek, injecting as much tease as he can in his voice. “I am definitely am not.”

Haruka stuck out her tongue. “Liar.”

Nobunaga wanted so badly for that description to not be true.

Haruka then scooted away from him. “Anyway, don’t distract me anymore, okay? I practiced so many times how to do this properly. You’re going to be amazed! I can do it even better than I could when I could still see.”

Nobunaga swallowed back a choke of anguish.

But indeed Haruka was good. How she had practiced and for how long, she would not say. Instead, she dutifully filled them in with how busy she had been over the course of winter, how she learned to determine the change in seasons by smell, how she felt like even her sense of hearing had all but improved lately. She told them about the rumors that had started to find its way around the nearest village about how she was apparently some sort of witch that could predict the future.

“Did you tell them that one’s true?” Hideyoshi teased.

“Oh, shut up.” Haruka snapped back. “Or else I’m going to poison your tea.”

“You are the only one in the whole wide world who will talk while having tea service.” Hideyoshi pointed out.

“You should be thankful then that I am not boring like you.”

Nobunaga listened to the two of them chatting, every once in a while inserting his own remarks and comments to make sure Haruka felt safe. And all the while, he watched everything intently; Haruka’s face become more and more animated at each different tale, her hands as they moved with her explanations. He watched her smile, frown, pout, and be more and more just as he had remembered her to be.

War changes everything. He had known it when he was just little boy, when his own brothers had tried to assassinate him. He continued to learn that it was so as a man, with allies and enemies shifting at a moment’s turn. Haruka had been one of the few precious individuals that had remained steadfast over the years. A solid rock. His foundation upon which he tried to build his whole life.

Seeing her now, with the way she served the tea, it was as if nothing had changed at all.

As if Mitsuhide had not betrayed him. As if Ieyasu was still in the palace being sour and contrary. As if Mitsunari had not been lost to all of them during the siege of the Uesugi. As if he had not swung his blade too fast, too early, hitting her eyes instead of –

Finally, Haruka pushed the cup towards them.

Nobunaga said his thanks, hands curling around the cup. He closed his eyes, and drank. He tasted the bittersweet taste she was so fond of in her brew, felt the same softness settle over him like a blanket that protected from the biting cold.

Just like the first time.

Just like all the times they had spent together in happier times, drinking tea with their books and their strategy and their dreams of conquering the world.

Tears were threatening to spill from his eyes and he was just wondering why in the world did he have to hide his tears from the woman he loved when all of a sudden, he felt Haruka place her hand on top of his, her face smiling as she looked up at the sky. “Tell me, Nobunaga. What color is the sky today?”

Nobunaga did not look up. Instead, he placed a hand on top of hers, moving so he could be closer to her and easing her to rest on his shoulders. He knew he would never attain any sort of redemption for what he had done or was about to do with the world.

But at least he could have this with her. At least in these quiet moments, he could have her in his arms and she would whisper that it was okay, that everything was okay.

That was redemption enough.

Nobunaga pretended not to feel the heaviness on his eyes, or on his tongue as he told her the same thing he had been telling her ever since her world had turned dark. “Red, my love. It is the red of our redemption in this war.”


	15. Pride (SLBP Masamune)

“My lord,  _please._ ” Masamune bowed, touching his forehead to the floor. He poured all his emotion into that word; a phrase he rarely used. Every time he did, he tasted ash in his mouth. Every time he wielded it, it felt too much like a short sword resting on his neck.

It sounded weak. It sounded pathetic.

It summarized too much how desperately he needed help.

“Please.” He repeated, not moving from his spot. “I will do everything that needs done. Let me lead the charge.”

He did not bring himself upright, even as he heard Nobunaga open a fan and regard him for what seemed like eternity.

“The Date has finally revealed its fangs, then.” Nobunaga finally said. Then something shifted in his voice. “I heard what had had to happen for the demon in your eye to finally stir.”

Masamune dared not open his mouth for fear of what could come out of it.

Nobunaga did not seem to expect an answer either. “Very well.” A flurry of footsteps and Nobunaga spoke again. “Send word to Hideyoshi. Tell him he will now cover the eastern front. You, contact the Maeda to mobilize and have them cover Hideyoshi instead.”

“Of course, Lord Oda.” And the servants were gone with even more haste.

“You have my eternal gratitude, my lord.” Masamune slowly sat upright. Part of him calmed at the sight of the confident smile unfurling on Nobunaga’s lips. Part of him was screaming screaming  _screaming –_

Half his territory for an illusion of peace. Half his territory in ruins: lands scorched, troops routed and fleeing, his own house and kin nothing more than whispers in the wind. More than half of everything that made him who he was in exchange for thirty thousand guns and smoke and anger and -

“Tea, my lords.” Another servant announced himself, not looking at either of them, bowing lower than Masamune had done.

He wondered if that feat was possible.

Masamune tore his eyes away, forced himself to look only at the tea, at the delicate pink dessert placed beside it, and tried not to think and dwell that he had just groveled before his liege lord for a chance.

A chance at what? Fame? Glory? The chance to ally himself with the man who would bring an end to the eternal wars?

_Murder?_

No.

He had begged for the opportunity to set things right. _He did the right thing in exchanging it with Nobunaga._  Now more than ever he needed the opportunity and resources an allegiance with the Oda clan had to offer.

No one in the entire country was prepared for the Takeda. It was one thing for the fabled cavalry to simply exist than it was to have the very same cavalry thundering through the landscape, sweeping territories along the way.

What had caused Shingen Takeda to suddenly play aggressively to gain Divine Rule was a mystery. The rumors ranged from a sudden increase in his vitality to a love child that he desperately was trying to avenge from a skirmish gone wrong. No one knew the exact reason. Only that the Takeda was out to sweep the country off of the very foundations the rest of them had tried to fortify. Not even the famed Uesugi, his long-time rival that had always been there to douse the flames, had been enough to stop him.

Now, only the Oda and its allies stood against the Takeda’s path.

Masamune needed time to recuperate. He needed time to strategize. He needed the thirty thousand guns if he wanted to pommel the Azakoane to the ground. And he needed time to stop and think and breathe and try not too much to remember the softness of her hair, the delicate sound of her laughter, and how she looked up at him beaming with  _their_  child in her arms and –

“Takeda will be a hard opponent.” Nobunaga said, almost to himself, dessert plate suddenly empty. “But not impossible to beat. He will – ”

“The bastard will pay for what he has done.”  Masamune said before he could stop himself, anger rising out his bones. “He will pay with his life.”

Nobunaga paused. Then, chuckled. “Indeed he will.”

Masamuna bit down on his lip hard before shaking his head. “Forgive me, lord Oda. I did not mean to interrupt.”

“There is nothing that needs forgiving.” Nobunaga said. Whether he was amused, Masamune could not tell. “You have all the right in the world to be angry for what he did to you.”

_Not to me. To her. To them. To my vassals. To my claws.  To everything that was precious and tender and good._

“I was complacent. My advisers have often warned me that I should not stay too long out of the war. That eventually, if I did not move, something will come to take away what I thought I could protect.”

Nobunaga watched him from his place in the dais, something flickering across his face. Masamune wondered if perhaps the Takeda had taken something from the Oda too.

“Did it hurt?” Nobunaga asked. “What he did to you?”

“Yes.” Masamune found himself answering after a lengthy pause.

He reached for his tea, bringing his other hand to his chest, trying to wrestle his emotions into place. “There is nothing left now except the words I have failed to heed, and the wounded pride of a protector that has failed his people.”

“And madness.” Nobunaga added. “Only a madman would lead a charge like that voluntarily.”

Masamune looked down at his cup, saw both eyes, each a different color, reflecting not quite right, and realized that the Lord Oda was right. “After he took her away? Especially madness.”


	16. Choice (feat. SLBP Masanari)

I lay on my back, my gaze fixed on his face. He in turn matched my movements as if mesmerized, looking down on me as his long hair cascaded to envelope us both.

“Are you no longer afraid?” His voice no longer had that lilt of teasing. Only seriousness. Only the weight of the consequences to come.

“No.” I answered, reaching out to twine her fingers around his hair. They were soft, silky, perfumed in a way to intoxicate. For a brief moment, I remembered how I had always been drawn to him and his oils. And for a brief moment, I wanted nothing more than bury myself in that scent, take it all from him and weave it into a safe and warm blanket.

But vengeance was far far sweeter than any nectar offered to me. And he had brought me to the source. I had chosen to drink from it, swallow it all. I had already followed his every word, his every instruction, his every whim and machination. I had followed him when I could have served a higher purpose, a higher power.

But he had tried to poison Master Ieyasu. And things have spiraled out of control after that. Loyalties had to be declared. Promises and fidelity, renewed. Most important of all, sides had to be taken.

And I had not chosen his.

Master Masanari continued to watch me, as if searching my face for something other than the determination and tenacity he had carved in my bones. Then finally, he raised his hand to trace the contour of my lips and something flickered in his eyes. “What did they give you that I didn’t?”

“The Lady Oda promised us nothing short of absolute protection.” I answered. “That, and she believes in the Mitsuba’s cause.”

“And look where it has taken you.” Master Masanari’s face was lined with disgust and frustration. “Trapped in your very safe house. No familiars. No friends. Nothing but the promise of a has-been kitchen maid to douse the flames of the Lord of Hell.”

I slapped my hands on his chest. “Three years and you still fight with me over this.”

“Three years and I still admonish you for a foolish amusement gone wrong.” A small smile, gone too soon for me to even register. Then his tone took an even more somber tone.“Why did you not choose to stay with me, little one?” 

I opened my mouth to speak but found that no words could ever justify my own betrayal. Too many nights crying over the lives I had taken. Too many nights crying over the lives left behind. It had all blurred in my mind, and even now, faced with the consequences of all of my choices, they were still the same murky waters I dared not tread. “You could have chosen to side with me.”

“Serving a power that is only a bright flickering flame was a fool’s choice.”

“Vengeance tastes all the same. Whether prepared by you or forged by me.” I gritted my teeth, almost pulling at his hair. “In the end what is important is that it is my choice. Mine.”

“Is this your gift for me, then? Lay enough clues for me to finally find you. Leave your door open the same way I have for you. And wait and wait and wait?”

“Yes.” I muttered, letting my hands fall. “And you came.”

“And indeed I did.” He chuckled, placing his hands almost reverentially on my neck. “There will be no turning back from this.”

“I know.” I answered. “Didn’t you already declare that if I had to die, it will be by your hands?”


	17. Family (feat. IkeSen Nobunaga Oda)

“To the Oda Clan! And our great Lord Nobunaga Oda!”

“To his Divine Rule!”

The main hall was in an uproar tonight. Booming laughter and raucous singing filled the night air. Nobunaga Oda tipped back his sake cup and continued watching his men from his place at the dais, an unopened bottle of sake still beside him, fresh and at just the right temperature.

After long weeks of campaigning, they’ve finally struck a lethal blow against the Uesugi-Takeda alliance. Both Kenshin and Shingen had withdrawn their claim on Oda territory, pushed back and away with their tail inbetween their legs.

It had been a hard campaign. And an extended one. But as was expected, victory was his to take and he was a step closer to achieving Divine Rule.

Most of his retainers and soldiers had all come forward to pour for him and with each cup of sake, he allowed himself to relive his dreams of peaceful lands, of prosperity for each and every man who could work for them; a day when they could all wake up and not have to worry about losing their lives over meaningless battles and pointless disputes.

These thoughts warmed him more than the sake did. And with each and every offered cup that he took, his determination to see it all to the very end only grew.

“I’ll pour for you too, Milord.”

“You may.” Nobunaga watched as Hideyoshi Toyotomi, who had been by his side the entire time watching the other retainers like a hawk as they had approached, refill his cup before pouring one for himself. Then, Nobunaga raised his cup and said in a solemn tone. “For Divine Rule.”

“For your Divine Rule, milord.” Hideyoshi tipped back the cup with practiced ease. “Let me, Hideyoshi Toyotmi, once again profess my utmost loyalty to you, milord Nobunaga.”

Before Nobunaga could stop him, Hideyoshi had bowed so low his forehead touched the ground. “I swear my life to you, milord. Nothing will ever cross blades with you ever again without having gone through me first.”

“Raise your head, Hideyoshi.” Nobunaga chuckled. “Five enemy soldiers at the same time is not much to deal with, as I’ve been telling you. There are other ways to serve me than simply being cannon fodder.”

“But, milord, I -!”

“He’s drunk and being an embarrassment.” Masamune appeared into view, with Mitsuhide in tow. He clapped Hideyoshi on the shoulder. “You heard him, forget it.”

Hideyoshi seemed to vibrate with every fiber of his being, the red on his cheeks more apparent now. “I will strive to become better to serve you better, milord.”

“You could start by pouring me a cup.” Mitsuhide teased.

“Tch. My sake-pouring skills are for lord Nobunaga, only.” Hideyoshi frowned. “You pour your own cup.”

“I’ll pour you a cup, Mitsuhide.” Ieyasu offered, joining them with Mitsunari close behind.

“And have you lace it with something inedible?” Mitsuhide shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Sake and wasabi’s a good combination.” Ieyasu squeezed himself inbetween Hideyoshi and Mitsuhide in the hopes to avoid Mitsunari but Hideyoshi could not be separated from his lord’s side.

“What does that taste like though, lord Ieyasu?” Mitsunari asked, sitting beside Ieyasu.

“Nothing you would want to try.”

“Ah, of course. Lord Ieyasu is as thoughtful as always since I’m not much of a drinker.”

Ieyasu groaned.

“Pair it with something sweet, then.” Masamune procured a small bag from his sleeve. “I have these small sweet buns.”

“Do you always carry a snack around you, lord Masamune?” Mitsunari asked.

“Yes.” Masamune answered solemnly as he promptly distributed the sweet buns around. “Can’t go hungry in a war.”

“We’re in the middle of a banquet.” Ieyasu rolled his eyes but accepted the sweet bun nevertheless.

“So we are.” Masamune turned to Nobunaga. “Allow us to pour a cup for you too, milord.”

Nobunaga smiled. “It’s rare for you to offer, Masamune.”

“Better to serve the sake then be served the sake.” Masamune gave Mitsuhide a mock glare. “Gotta make sure I don’t touch anything else but the bottle. Besides,” Masamune’s grin widened, as he looked back at Nobunaga “tonight is a special occasion.”

And indeed it was. “Three months of campaigning is a long time.” Nobunaga said, allowing Masamune to pour him a cup. “But I had full confidence we would pull through.”

Various assents rang through the group, punctuated with Hideyoshi loudly declaring that nothing could ever stand in the way of the way of the mighty Oda army.

“To the Oda.” Hideyoshi declared, raising his cup.

“To longevity for our lord.” Mitsuhide added.

“May the fates smile on all of us.” Nobunaga finished. And as one, the closest and most trusted of his generals drank. Nobunaga let his eyes wander at the men gathered around him and for the first time in a long time, Nobunaga thanked his lucky stars for letting him find them.

“Then,” Nobunaga leaned forward, raising the bottle he had kept at his side, “allow me to all pour you a cup.”

There was nothing but shocked silence at first and then Masamune sputtered, “Could I have water instead?”

“Masamune!” Hideyoshi glared across him. “This is the highest most supreme honor!”

“You’re sloshing your words.” Ieyasu mumbled.

“It’s all right.” Nobunaga said, chuckling. “I would not be so unreasonable as to deny such a simple request.”

“Let me be the one to give Masamune his cup, milord.” Mitsuhide teased.

Masamune looked offended. “No proxies either!”

As they all laughed around him, Nobunaga could feel a flush of pride at having them all gather at his table. And somehow, a renewed sense of obligation began to wash over him.

He would take it all on him and he would win. Any challenger, any rebellion, any foolish daimyo or foreign power who think they could pry from his hands the fulfilment of his ambition, he would fight them all. And he would win.

Victory was his to take.

And victory was his to share with his family.

This family.


	18. Slumber (feat. IkeSen Hideyoshi Toyotomi)

Every time he would promise not to fall asleep so that he could see her off, but every time he would break it.

Tonight was no exception.

Though it has been years since the great unification had ended the wars, Hideyoshi Toyotomi still had many things on his plate. She knew him too well to know that he would tire himself each passing day to fulfill his dreams. And tire himself he did. Not even her threats to bewitch him to sleep could stop him from poring over documents, meeting with important daimyos, or overseeing some other important matter that needed to be taken care of before bed.

More than once, she had been tempted to send some of her servants to at least help him handle minor matters, or sometimes to put something in his drink that would let him rest. But her respect for him was too much. And his dream, too important for both of them; she could do nothing but support him.

There were too many things to do and too short a lifetime to do it. Humans were at a disadvantage that way.

Smiling a wry smile, she gently ran a hand through Hideyoshi’s hair, letting the last silver of the full moon cast shadows on them, and hoping her touch could add to the gentleness of his sleep. Soon she would have to leave and they would have to wait a full month again for their next tryst. He could only pray and she could only listen.

She did not begrudge him this. She could never find fault in him for anything. Not when her very existence lies in him remembering her, and offering just a little bit of what he has so that she could live on.

Before long, dawn was but a few breaths away and already, her physical form was slipping. By the laws etched in her buried bones, she was not allowed to appear when the Mother Goddess was awake. Whether or not she liked it, she would have to disappear.

In all honesty she wanted to rouse Hideyoshi and kiss him one last time but he was too important to her that she would allow herself to indulge in that act of minor selfishness. She would rather, and gladly at that, spend each precious moment watching him sleep.

Even a goddess like her, plucked from another lifetime, could be generous that way.


	19. Flying (feat. IkeSen Nobunaga)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fantasy AU

Instead of saving himself, Nobunaga Oda punched the man about to tackle Ava square in the jaw, immediately knocking him out cold. 

“Do you trust me now?” He turned to her, hoping his smile could at least disarm her. 

It did not. 

“You think you knocking out a few goons is going to earn my trust?” She shouted, not regretting in the slightest that her loud voice was making it easier for their pursuers to track them. “I met you exactly fifteen minutes and eleven seconds ago being chummy with the bastards!”

“I was negotiating our release.” Nobunaga answered. “Emphasis on our.”

“And exactly how can I even be sure that’s true?!”

Before Nobunaga could reason out, they reached the clearing Ava had pointed she was headed. Much to her surprise, it revealed only the edge of a cliff and a thousand feet down. 

Ava swore curses. 

Nobunaga bit back a laugh.

In all honesty, from the very beginning Nobunaga Oda could have continued on; left Ava as she were. Heights (or the metal cage he was kept in) were never a problem and this would not be the first time he committed a leap of faith at this height. 

Only –

He had thought her a Were at first but the scent he had caught had been her pet’s; long dead and gone with only its collar wrapped around her wrist as a reminder. For all her tenacity, Ava was human. Only human. Nothing more and nothing less.

But – and this was the most important point to him – a human with a spark. He could feel it. No, he had seen it. A tiny ember of yearning; a flame that refused to completely snuffed out.

And he was curious about that spark. How beautiful would it look if it were a wildfire?

He wanted to find out.

Although at the moment, with her refusal to cooperate, he was not quite sure how he could explain to her that he had stayed for her sake. That despite the fact that escaping metal cages was child’s play to him, Nobunaga stayed, and watched and planned. The biggest sacrifice after all was that at the risk of receiving lectures from his lieutenants the moment he arrived back at their nest, Nobunaga bided his time for her. 

Only, Ava had had her own plans and shot the poachers’ leader before he could help her.

And here they were. With Ava pacing nervously. And him, trying his very best to wing it out.

Nobunaga turned back towards Ava, a slew of positive and reinforcing points already on the tip of his tongue. No smile this time. Just facts. “This is going to be repetitive, however –”

“I don’t have much choice now, do I?” Ava finished for him, grabbing his hand and pulling him into a jump.

As they began descending, Nobunaga found himself speechless.

Was he really sure this tiny fireball was just human, after all? 

“Any moment now will be a convenient time to really show-off!” Ava, despite plummeting down to what could be her (very poorly) chosen death, smacked him on the shoulder.

And this was how their story started, which was very much in the same way as all other things did for Nobunaga Oda: with laughter, and a spread of his great black wings.


	20. Hands (feat. Rayvis Harneit)

Rayvis Harneit looked up at the sky and wondered which of the gods he managed to piss off this time. Of all the days the infamous Steiner winter had to make its menacing comeback, it had to be today. The day when he had promised the Wysterian princess he would show her around town. The day he had to make good because he had lost a bet to her.

The day that he had overly prepared for (but of course was never going to admit to that.) And the day he forgot to bring in his gloves.

A silly mistake, really. A mistake he should not have made. But as they were about to descend from the carriage to walk around Central marketplace, he had checked his pockets for his gloves just in case. All his pockets.

But there were no gloves.

As he had steered the Princess into the marketplace, Rayvis had tried his best to contain the trickle of panic that had struck him as he searched his memory for the how and the why. He remembered specifically choosing the dark gray pair as they would match his coat. He remembered having instructed his aides to make sure they shined a specific pair of shoes to tie in the ensemble.

Then as he watched as the Princess haggle a good price for a box of tea, it struck him.

Rook.

Rook had been too busy with something to see him and the Princess both off. He remembered giving Rook a playful pat before pocketing the pair but he could not remember seeing Rook accompany him to the main doors.

He had not minded then, as he had been busy himself exchanging playful snarks with the Princess, and he did not want a repeat of his utter and devastating defeat the dinner before. But now in retrospect, he realized how odd it had been that it was just Nico, all cheers and smiles, who had waved them off.

And now, here he was, making sure he was using both hands to hold on to the warm ginger tea the Princess had managed to coax the tea master into brewing for them. And making sure his eyes never left her in case he would miss her smile.

“You don’t have to be shy, really.”

Rayvis, whose eyes had never left her, somehow was still surprised to see the Princess looking at him, cheeks flushed with the winter wind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He answered, not missing the beat. It was important to him that he never missed her beat.

“You’ve been holding on to that cup for more than its worth.” She teased. “I know you don’t have your gloves.”

“And how would you know that?” He asked. “Maybe I just don’t feel like wearing them for now. It’s not that cold.”

She laughed, seeing the obvious lie. “Here.” She opened her palms up towards him, beaming. “I’ll take yours, then. If you don’t you’ll have to chop them off because they’ll be frozen before we get back to the palace.”

He hesitated; wondered if he could stand to let her hands go once he held them.

“C’mon.” She said, a slight quiver in her voice she covered with a small cough, her cheeks burning still. “I read somewhere warmth is better shared this way, you know.”

Rayvis could not help but chuckle. He placed his hands on top of her. Then, as if she was afraid he would pull back, quickly placed her other hand on top of his, giggling.

“See? Your color’s getting better already.”

“I think I did actually feel a little chilly.” He answered.

“I have a proposal then, my Archduke. I think it is better for your sake we should do this until we get back to the palace.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

What was it about her that made him feel so relaxed, so willing to surrender? What was it about her that she had managed to thwart every attempt he made to make himself look more? Unconsciously even, at that. He had never hidden the fact that she would need him to maneuver the political labyrinth that made up the Steiner Court but maybe – and this was, for now, a very hypothetical question he entertained more often than he would like to admit – he wanted her to want him more?

Rayvis pulled on her hand then (he could not help but chuckle at her sudden surprise) and linked his fingers around hers. “Then allow me to indulge myself, Princess.”

He wondered what present he would need to give to Rook.


	21. Water (feat. IkeSen Nobunaga)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: warnings! this is not a happy fic :< for those uncomfortable with their fave character experiencing physical pain or being placed in a situation causing physical pain, this is not for you. I do not usually flag my writings like this but this piece contains little context and is currently not yet included in an over-all narrative which may possibly only bring discomfort without closure. I am aware of the flavor my writing sometimes have which is why I am placing this very lengthy warning because I understand that physical suffering presented seemingly for its sake alone sometimes leaves a bad taste in one’s mouth. So please, if this is not your thing, do not engage. that said, it’s a fantasy AU and there may be a prologue and an actual ending but for now have this very painful tidbit.

Bound. Shivering. With a gag in his mouth. And extremely, uncomfortably, desperately thirsty.

All these despite dripping wet from a bucket of ice cold water that had been unceremoniously dumped on him just minutes before.

It was a situation that Nobunaga Oda had never expected to find himself in. For the umpteenth time, he strained against his bindings, and his efforts only brought the familiar pain of his wrists against rubbing against the rope.

And for the umpteenth time, he could only smile bitterly. Any other rope work and it would have been so easy to loosen some of his bones to escape. Any other cage and he would been roaring to get away. Any other captor, and his men would descend upon the scum that dared try. After all, the rage of the Devil King was never to be trifled with.

But –

(And there was always that but.)

Things were never so simple, really.

“Didn’t you say you wanted water?”

Had the ropes been even a fraction looser, Nobunaga would have twisted his neck to face his captor, as he had done several times before. But that had resulted in too many injuries, too many bites that almost drew blood. That had been stepping out of the line, or so he was told.

No nourishment for him. No unnecessary broken bones for magic either.

All that he had been allowed was the inexorable pain of being nearly twisted out of shape, impossibly tied as he was to his own body parts, and the maddening experience of being made to wait.

He could not even look at her.

“If you’re willing to be more cooperative, I can arrange for a more civilized drink.” His captor’s voice filled the room and echoed in his mind like the buzz of a swarm of bees. He soon found himself forgetting everything else except her voice, the feel of her skin against his, and the desperate need to eat her up.

He stopped the thought and despised himself for falling for it.

Shapeshifter had been the first thing to come to his mind when he realized all too late that something was amiss. Unfortunately, he had been wrong in his guess. Shapeshifters could not copy scents, could never truly capture unique language use or mannerisms. Doppelgangers would have fitted the bill, except they had four fingers instead of five.

No, what was standing before him was his lucky charm. But not quite.

He heard her approach him and soon she was standing and looking down at him, still dressed in the same kimono as his lucky charm had been when they started. Her long hair cascaded down as if to envelope him and soon even her scent began to fill his senses.

She was smiling but where it had always been one of gentleness, now it was a smile that promised heat and danger and unspoken horrors to come but if and only if he would not behave himself. She reached out towards him, traced her finger from one shoulder to the other and pain blossomed so suddenly it made him see white. It earned him an even wider smile, twisted and wrong. It did not belong there.

Kanaima it called itself. Nobunaga had never heard of it before. Not even the foreigners who frequented his court had mentioned it. If he knew what it was, he would have used every ounce of his power to kill it where it stood. But he did not and it was standing in the guise of what was most important to him.

“You know what I want.” She said, in his lucky charm’s voice but not quite her voice. She grabbed his head with both hands. “Cooperate.”

Nobunaga strained against her pull and pushed what dregs of will he had left to force his hands to curl into fists. His attempt awarded him with pain shooting up his arm, a somewhat clear mind, and a chuckle.

“Stubborn.” She drew back, clicking her tongue. “To think the Devil King would sacrifice this much, nay endure this much, for his inner circle. What a waste of your name.”

Nobunaga could only glare back.

“We will try again.” She reached out, touching his chest once more. He felt heat burn him from the inside all over again. He felt himself shaking in pain until he could see nothing but red, as if everything inside him was being pierced by a thousand needles, cut open, stitched back, and opened again.

He screamed. There was no other explanation for the gleeful laughter that came from the kanaima. For how long he screamed or for how long the pain lasted however, Nobunaga could not tell. Only it was far longer than any of the monster’s spell had been. Far longer than he should have been able to survive.

By the time he could pull himself back into consciousness, he was alone again in the room, with nothing but a broken hand, a glass of water far beyond his reach, and still no idea on how to kill the monster inside his lucky charm’s skin.


	22. Window (feat. IkeSen Kennyo)

The first time he had chanced upon the Oda Princess by the river bank, she had been crying.

Kennyo had not bothered to approach her. He recognized those tears; the quiet kind of fierce bawling that no amount of comforting words or presence could dispel. That, and Kennyo knew from experience those tears were better shed than left to dry from within.So he had kept just out of sight, making sure she had a good cry undisturbed. He left only when the Princess was later on found and picked up by a man who seemed to be Mitsunari Ishida.

The second time Kennyo saw the Princess along the same spot, she was alone again but at least calmer somehow. She was no longer bawling her eyes out though the occasional sniffling told him he had just missed it. Most of the time however, she simply sat and stared at the sky until the blue became red and orange. He had just made up his mind to tell her to go home when all of a sudden she had stood up herself and made her way back towards the castle.

As he had watched her disappear into the forest, Kennyo wondered what could possibly be suffered by an Oda Princess that would make her cry so often as she did.

The question ate at him more than he had anticipated and made him feel restless enough that in next few days, he purposely passed by the same spot by the river bank in the (unspoken) hopes of seeing her somehow. A quiet vigil in the hopes she would come back. But the Princess did not return.

Perhaps she was feeling better? Perhaps whatever was causing her sorrow had been removed? Thatwas a good thought to entertain, wasn’t it? That the Princess had found her happiness or whatever it was that made her so sad had already been resolved.

Or perhaps, the worst had come to pass. And it was the Princess that was gone.

The thought saddened him more than he had thought it could. He had never really spoken to her, much less had any kind of interaction with her that could spark the empathy he reserved for his friends. His only interaction with her after all had been to warn her of monsters in the dark. But that had been months ago. She might not even remember.

No, he told himself. What he was feeling was simply unsatisfied curiosity. He stumbled upon her, distraught and wailing, and had been curious. That she would no longer return left that curiosity without conclusion, which would explain why he kept returning to the spot he had seen her in an attempt to fill-in his thoughts.

Thoughts, he mused, as he passed the river bank for the umpteenth time, that he needed to bury. Because even if she was still alive, the chances of meeting the famous Oda Princess were far and few in-between. It was not like either of them were living under similar circumstances to casually and unintentionally see each other as if they were normal neighbors.

And bury them he almost did.

He was passing by that spot again, thoughts of the Princess replaced by hunting he needed to do to fill in his stock for the week. Out of habit, he turned his head to look at the river and saw the same shock of golden hair.

And the same set of trembling shoulders.

And heard the same near-desperate howl of her anguish.

The curiosity that ate at him grew tenfold that he had to stop himself just short of bursting out of the thicket to ask if she was all right. He had to calm down. After not seeing her for so long, he now doubted if asking was the correct thing to do.

He should not tangle with Oda business, even if the Princess was nothing more than a titleholder than a true blood relation. He was an enemy of the Oda, blood or not. Besides, what good would it do him if he knew the troubles of one of the Oda.

Then again –

One talk was all he needed, he told himself. A simple conversation, is all. If he made her feel better, then that was a good enough end in itself to aim for. It would finally put his own anxiety to rest.

However, if aside from making her feel better she somehow told him a detail or two about the Devil King, then it would be worth more than all the time he had wasted feeling sorry for her at a distance.

With that in mind, Kennyo mustered enough courage (and alibis) to convince himself he could not leave her alone.

He made his way towards her, making as much noise as possible so she could raise her guard. Sure enough, just as he was within earshot, the Princess had jumped from where she sat, and spun around to face him. Though her eyes and cheeks were red, there was steel and a readiness in her that told him she had been waiting. That fact surprised him and made him consider the situation seriously.

There was also the matter of the pistol in her hands.

“I mean no harm.” Kennyo said, raising his arms and opening his hands to show her the kerchief he had meant to give her. “I heard someone crying and decided to approach. I did not know it was going to be you, Azuchi’s chatelaine.”

“How did you…?” Then, she recognized him; no doubt from the wanted posters her clan had circulated. And she raised the pistol higher aiming for his chest. “What are you doing here?” She asked, hastily wiping at her tears. “You shouldn’t be here. These are Oda lands. If he finds you, he will kill you.”

“If he finds me.”

“He could.” She replied. “He knows how to find what he wants.”

“Then if he does, he would have to try really really hard for me to not kill him first.” The all-too familiar anger coiled inside him at the mere mention of Nobunaga Oda and he found himself half snarling at the thought. He caught himself just in time – or had it been the look of panic on the Princess’ face – and then he sighed, putting a lid on his emotions. “But I take it you are opposed to the idea of him killing me?”

The Princess opened her mouth and then closed it before looking away. “Not particularly.”

“Not good for you to look away from a man you’ve aimed your weapon at.” He cautioned.

The Princess rolled her eyes, and steadied her aim. “Why are you here, really?”

Kennyo sifted through the dozen of excuses he had on the tip of his tongue, but found he could only tell the truth. “I told you. I could not leave you crying alone.”

That took her by surprise as much as it did him. And this time it was his turn to look away, embarrassed. He hastily put down his arms and attempted a lazy shrug as he pocketed his kerchief. “It leaves a bad taste in my mouth to leave a woman in distress.”

“The stories I have heard about the monk named Kennyo never included that he had a soft spot for women’s tears.” She said.

Kennyo scoffed. “The rumors about Azuchi’s witch have not been kind either.”

She grimaced and Kennyo wondered if he had hit a sore spot. “Then it seems neither of us have very good reputations.”

“Evidently.”

The Princess shook her head, extinguishing the pistol and tucking it away. Or rather, putting it roughly in her obi, the weapon plainly in sight and within her reach. Then, as if resigned, she picked up a rock and threw it at the river. It bounced twice before falling into the water.

Kennyo watched quietly as she repeated the same action over and over again, choosing pebbles carefully before throwing them into the water. However, despite her repeated attempts, her stones bounced no more than three times before sinking. And each time, she only grew more and more frustrated until she dropped all sense of subtlety,hurtling a rock in a throw, screaming. The stone flew silently in the air, to be swallowed by the river with nothing more than a sigh.

Kennyo wondered why his feet remained rooted where he stood.

He could turn and leave anytime. He had been dismissed, after all. And the Princess had made her unspoken promise not to tell her liege lord of the rat in his hunting grounds. As a matter of fact, he should be packing up his things in his makeshift cabin at that very moment, moving his location somewhere deeper into the forest. But instead of doing every practical thing he had planned in case he had been found by the Oda, he stood there watching their treasured Princess skip pebbles in the river.

“I’m not a witch.” She finally said, not looking at him but at her hands, dirtied with mud and grass. “And even if I was, it wouldn’t be that kind of witch.”

When he did not respond, the Princess turned towards him. “Are the rumors they tell about you true, then?”

“Yes.” He answered. “All of it.”

“Even the ones that say you swindle money from the poor?”

Kennyo frowned.

“Thought so.” She flashed him a quick smile and Kennyo felt as if he had somehow lost a bet. “This might sound repetitive but why are you still here?”

Kennyo wondered about that himself. Slowly, he approached her but kept a safe distance. “When I was young, I remember being told a story about skipping stones in the river.”

The Princess remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“They say that if you manage to have your stone reach the other end, all your worries will disappear and your heart’s desire could be granted.”

“Isn’t that convenient.” She muttered. “Throw a stone hard enough and everything will be all right in the world.”

“Wasn’t that what you were doing?”

A faint blush colored her cheeks. “I was practicing my aim.”

“Well it was a very random aim.” Kennyo picked up a stone and tried it himself. It managed five skips before disappearing into the water.

“Yours ain’t so grand either.” She huffed. And then, with just the barest hints of excitement, asked him, “How did you manage five?”

Kennyo could only barely contain a laugh. “It’s in the wrist.”

“That doesn’t seem right! You barely flicked it!”

“You also need to choose a flatter pebble.” Kennyo crouched down, selected a stone, and repeated his movements. Again the pebble bounced five times before sinking.

He grinned. The Princess clicked her tongue but crouched down anyway and began to search.

“Have this one.” Kennyo offered to her before he realized what he had just done. However, just as he was about to pull back his hand, the Princess took the stone from him, running her fingers around it, oblivious to his discomfort.

“Oh these are smoother.” She said. “And you said it was in the wrist?”

Kennyo nodded, not trusting his mouth.

The Princess practiced the motion slowly several times before letting the stone go. Kennyo wished it would go farther than his. Unfortunately, it bounced only three times before sinking yet again.

“This is rigged.” The Princess kicked at the grass.

“You just need more practice.” Kennyo said. “Try again.”

Despite her complaints,the Princess did crouch down and dutifully selected several stones.

How his plan to weasel information from the Princess managed to end up with them spending time looking for smooth pebbles and throwing them into the water, Kennyo was not sure. He had not dropped his guard the moment he was within range of her pistol. He was sympathizing but he was not stupid. He tensed whenever she picked up a new stone and aimed for the river, knowing that she could easily hurl it at him and then shoot him in the chest.

But then, somehow in the back of his mind, he knew she would not do it. She did not seem to be the type. And even if there was no telling either that any of the Oda would suddenly burst from the bushes to apprehend him, the same sense of peacefulness managed to smooth every anxiety, and assured him that it would not happen.

At least, not today.

“Looks like neither of our problems are going away.” The Princess said, watching the ripples her last throw made until it disappeared.

“Not any time soon, yes.” Kennyo answered after a while. “But I think the moral of it isn’t that there is anything magical in the act. Only that you need to try it again.”

“And if trying and trying doesn’t work?”

“Then it simply means you haven’t tried hard enough.” Kennyo replied.

“We’ve been throwing stones the entire afternoon.”

“Some of us spend lifetimes just trying to reach one dream.”

“That’s bleak.”

“Life has never been fair.”

“That’s…” The Princess fell silent and said after some time. “That’s true.”

They fell silent again, watching the river, listening to the waters lap and gush by. Kennyo glanced at the Princess from the corner of his eyes, watched her hair dance softly in the wind. Her face no longer held any traces of her tears but neither was she any less sad than when they had started.

He wanted to ask what could possibly be wanting from an Oda Princess to have such a desolate look on her face. And more importantly, he wanted to ask what she desperately wanted granted to rely on superstitious beliefs, when she had all of Azuchi’s powers in the palm of her hands.

The quiet moment seemed to be the window of opportunity he had been waiting for. If he could not physically help her, at the very least he could offer some words of comfort.

She was not of Oda blood, right? It would be all right for him to drop the façade just this once, right?

But before he could ask, she had spoken up again. “Let’s pretend we never saw each other today, all right?”

Kennyo felt surprised at the sudden sinking sensation in his stomach at her words. “I was going to suggest the same thing.”

“And you never saw me crying.”

“All I saw was a woman failing at skipping stones that a toddler could beat her at it.”

“Hey! Not fair!” the Princess laughed despite the indignation in her tone. “Well, if you’re going to be like that then I saw a monk with a soft spot for women in distress!”

“You lose. No one would ever believe it was me.”

“Well, nobody would ever believe you either. My aim is amazing!”

“Of course it was.”

The Princess laughed again, turning around without another word and running back to wherever direction it was that she came from. Just before she was swallowed by the forest, she turned back to look at him and waved.

Kennyo waved back before he could stop himself, and half balked half pretended to scratch at his head.

That earned him another wide grin and laughter that seemed to never end. And Kennyo found himself staring far too long when she finally disappeared into the forest.

Thinking that he wanted to see that smile again.


	23. Streetlamps (original)

So we stood under the dimming streetlamp, yellow glow trying and burning the night that ate at our heels. My hands were too busy trying to holding yours still, and you were too busy counting your sins to count the lifetimes that have passed.

And you were speaking so fast that I could only interject between the heartbeats to tell you, My dearest glorious love,

Be at ease, you have come to me after all this time, you are safe under this streetlamp so long as you no longer lies through your teeth, Come,

Confess to me in the same way that you have been speaking to yourself under the dimming streetlight of worlds before; every fiber of you aching, throbbing. Hands raw from clawing something inside your chest, desperately wanting it all to spill so you could put something else inside your soul that isn’t burning and bruised

But finding it empty after all, that there was nothing inside you to begin with after all

And nothing was ever right except

For the way the yellow made you glow as if you had a halo, touching your hair, your cheeks, the tip of your nose and the crook of a relieved smile that begins whenever you remember whatever sacred thing it was from which this dissonant symphony began.

And I stretch out my arms to caress you, wipe away all those tears, stretch that grin made to devour all gods, and continue to whisper to you

“For you my dearest glorious love I would stifle your screams.”


	24. Box (IkeSen Hideyoshi Toyotomi)

“Hideyoshi, just please.” Ieyasu groaned. “For the love of everything that you consider holy, stop pacing.”

Hideyoshi waved a hand. “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” Ieyasu grumbled behind his coffee mug. “Or won’t?”

“Both.” Hideyoshi ran a hand nervously through his hair. “The post office told me it’ll be here by six a.m. And it’s -” Hideyoshi shot a glance at the clock “ - been ten minutes since.”

Ieyasu sighed loudly. Or groaned again. He was not sure. Mornings without having two black coffees first were blurry at best; he was only halfway through his first. That Hideyoshi had been pacing like a panicking chicken around the kitchen island made this morning just a little bit more surreal. Then again, Hideyoshi pacing should not have been a new thing.

“It’ll get here.” Mitsunari said brightly as he slathered what looked like his third slab of peanut butter onto the toast in his hand. Ieyasu shuddered, taking away the peanut butter from him.

“You’ll make yourself sick.”

“What?” Hideyoshi and Mitsunari both asked, turning to him.

Ieyasu grumbled, reflexively shrinking back into his hoodie, unable to take both their attention at the same time. “Ugh. Stop. Please let me have my second coffee before you shine on me.” Mitsunari offered to get him a second cup (Ieyasu declined). Hideyoshi muttered something about heart palpitations before resuming his pacing (Ieyasu ignored).

“Well, isn’t this a chaotic sight.” Mitsuhide appeared by the kitchen door, already looking fresh and prepped for the day, his white hair slicked back to dry.

Ieyasu gestured at Hideyoshi who was peeking at the living room window again. “Package day.”

Mitsuhide raised his brows in understanding. “Well. This country’s postal system has never failed us before.”

“That’s right.” Mitsunari added. “Lord Nobunaga’s packages always reach us.”

“I know. I know.” Hideyoshi stopped in front of them, pointing a finger on his own watch. “But the question is when, when,  _when_.”

“Sooner than you think.” Masamune piped, moving away from the stove and placing the scrambled eggs on the last empty plate. “Now settle down like good children and have breakfast. We can’t keep vigil on Nobunaga’s package on empty stomachs.”

Everyone agreed, save for Hideyoshi who scratched his head; anxious and ready to explode.

As much as Ieyasu wanted to ignore Hideyoshi, their kitchen-island/dining area could fit only six people, and there was no way he could miss Hideyoshi managing to do two more laps around the island before settling down on his usual seat.

“I can’t take this anymore.” He declared.

Ieyasu was about to open his mouth to say that Hideyoshi was not the only one, when all of a sudden the doorbell rang. Hideyoshi shot out of his seat and managed to get to the door in two steps. Not that it was impossible given how tiny their apartment was but the speed still managed to rock Hideyoshi’s chair back. Masamune only barely saved it from hitting the floor.

Mitsuhide chuckled, bringing his mug to his lips. “I just love the smell of freshly brewed coffee and the taste of panic in the morning.”

“Don’t be mean.” Masamune said but there was no reprimand in his voice. “Hideyoshi hasn’t been sleeping well since Nobunaga took that vacation.”

“It was his idea.” Ieyasu said, watching Hideyoshi at the corner of his eye. Hideyoshi peeped through the window, said something incoherent about punctuality and how young ones just cannot be expected to keep time anymore, before yanking open the door.

“Yeah.” Masamune answered. “But Hideyoshi thought he was going to go with him.”

Ieyasu could still remember how Hideyoshi had been on the verge of a breakdown as Nobunaga waved at them before passing through the luggage check-in at the airport. He could also distinctly remember Hideyoshi making Nobunaga promise to send him proof he arrived at his hotel safely.

Nobunaga had agreed. Hideyoshi had looked hopeful. Ieyasu had chosen to ignore the look Nobunaga had given Hideyoshi. He had also chosen to stop himself from asking if Hideyoshi, in his grief, caught that mischievous twinkle in Nobunaga’s eyes.

Twenty four hours into his absence, Nobunaga’s package had arrived: five beautifully crafted store-bought hotel mugs, one for each of them, with their initials stylishly handpainted at the bottom.

Hideyoshi had been beside himself with joy and relief, happily admiring his white mug with a bold green HT, and saying something about Nobunaga’s excellent taste -

Until he opened the envelope that came with the mugs. It contained pictures, mostly selfies. The top of the pile showed that Nobunaga did arrive at his hotel in Germany as he promised. The succeeding pictures also showed that he had begun a spontaneous cross-trekking trip from Europe to Asia using only a popular ride-sharing app.

The last picture was Nobunaga on the side of a road in the middle of what looked like a dense forest. He was smiling his usual gallant smile and he was holding a piece of paper where he wrote the words, “EVERYTHING IS FINE”. A car was behind him, smoking as cars usually did when they hit trees at very high speeds.

How Nobunaga managed to take them all and print them all and then send them to the apartment within twenty-four hours would remain mystery until he arrived.

How they had managed to stop Hideyoshi from going hysterical and following Nobunaga was all thanks to a second package that arrived twenty minutes from the first. It had another picture and a letter specifically telling Hideyoshi not to follow Nobunaga and to wait for him to come back. It also contained a promise that Nobunaga would be sending packages periodically over time. So there should be nothing for them to worry about.

Ieyasu had welcomed the idea of an extended break from their work. Masamune and Mitsuhide had agreed with him. Mitsunari had wondered out loud if they could ask Nobunaga for specific souvenirs. Only Hideyoshi seemed to foam at the mouth. Everyone that was not Mitsuhide tried to console him. And at that time, Ieyasu had somehow felt sorry for him and almost regretted not mentioning that he had a hunch Nobunaga was up to something.

Until Hideyoshi began his ritual pacing whenever it was time for Nobunaga’s package to arrive. Now, Ieyasu was past caring. Nobunaga needed to come back asap to get him sorted out.

“What is it, Hideyoshi?” Mitsuhide asked as Hideyoshi closed the door “What did our lord and master send over this time?”

Ieyasu set down his mug and watched as Hideyoshi carried the box into their kitchen area. It was a bit large, almost three feet tall and five feet across. It had red FRAGILE stickers all over, and somehow Ieyasu had the distinct impression Nobunaga had been given free reign of how much tape went on the box.

“That screams Nobunaga all over, doesn’t it?” Masamune commented, pushing back from the table to stand beside Hideyoshi.

“Did the postman say what’s inside?” Mitsunari asked, wiping excess rice from his chin.

“He didn’t.” Hideyoshi crouched down and placed a hand on top of the box.

“Well? Go on.” Mitsuhide said from where he sat. “Open it.”

HIdeyoshi sighed, shoulders slumping. “It’s like, I want to. But I’m afraid of what I’m going to find inside.”

Mitsuhide snorted. Masamune laughed.

“The live seafood was a shocker.” Masamune managed to wheeze. “Even if we did have to move half the living room to fit the aquariums. Tasted good tho.”

“Get it over with.” Ieyasu grumbled even as he got down from his own chair. “Here.” He handed Hideyoshi a pair of scissors. “The sooner  _you_ know the sooner  _we_  can all calm down.”

Hideyoshi wiped his hand on his nape. “All right.”

It took three whole minutes for Hideyoshi to cut through the packaging tape. He hesitated just short of cutting the box but then sighed and drove the scissors through. He pried it open the rest of the way and revealed a stack of items each wrapped in multi-colored cellophane wrapped around bubble wrap which in turn was wrapped around something. Ieyasu couldn’t see.

“So it wasn’t overkill then.” Masamune kneeled beside Hideyoshi. “These do look breakable.”

“Mason jars.” Mitsunari said from the far end of the table.

Hideyoshi made a noise as he picked up one of the jars and held it to the light. “I can’t see through all the wrapping.”

Never trust Nobunaga with tape. Or any packaging adhesive for that matter. Everything was fragile in his standards.

“Have you tried shaking it?” Mitsuhide asked.

Hideyoshi cast him a suspicious look. “You shake it.”

“Cowards.” Ieyasu sighed, picking one, testing its weight before placing it on the table. “What did the note say?”

“The card that came with said it was for health.”

“Great.” Ieyasu muttered. With the way things are looking, he needed something for all the stress. He began to pick at the wrapping. The cellophane was easy but it only revealed that the bubblewrap was secured by duct tape. Ieyasu sighed, cut through the damn thing, and peeled back Nobunaga’s obvious obsessiveness with packing materials.

The jar contained little multi-colored shapes, no bigger than a dime. Ieyasu turned it over and realized the they formed a rainbow. He quickly turned around to announce this, only to see that Masamune, Mitsuhide and Hideyoshi had all taken their jars and stepped back. And they were beckoning for a clueless Mitsunari to join them. “Seriously?!”

“You have to be honest, Nobunaga’s ideas get wilder each time.” Mitsuhide said in what seemed like everyone’s defense.

Ieyasu opened his mouth and then closed it. He really needed two coffees to be fully functional. “Mason jars could have seriously hurt us if Nobunaga made them burst in our face. They’re not made of tempered glass.”

“He would have bought something safe.” Hideyoshi said in automatic defense.

Mitsuhide raised a brow. “So you’re not against the idea of Nobunaga actually sending us a prank.”

Hideyoshi stiffened.

“Well?” Ieyasu waived an impatient hand. “I got meringue.”

“You what?!”

Masamune barked a laugh, tore at the wrappers, opened the jar, and took a sniff. “They’re technically healthy all right.” He scooped out something small and dark in his hands. “Chocolate balls.”

“Jawbreakers.” Mitsuhide announced.

“Sour tapes.” Mitsunari said.

Hideyoshi clutched his chest. “These aren’t healthy at all!”

“Oh!” Mitsunari clapped his hands. “But these are great when you feel a bit nauseous. It helps keep you levelled. And sugar helps keep you going if you have no food and are really hungry.”

“I have just maybe a very vague idea of what yours could be, Hideyoshi.” Mitsuhide grinned, popping a jawbreaker into his mouth. “Take a guess?”

Hideyoshi swallowed. “It’s that damned thing, isn’t it?”

“Your favorite.” Mitsuhide snickered.

Hideyoshi groaned, asked the heavens why did Nobunaga keep on torturing him, and proceeded to open his jar. The act seemed to take him forever and when he finally cracked open the jar, he let out the longest sigh Ieyasu had heard him have. “Konpeito.” Hideyoshi said in defeat.

“It’s all konpeito.” Mitsunari said as he went through the rest of the mason jars in the box.

Ieyasu was not sure whether he should pat Hideyoshi on the back or join in the laughter. He did not have a taste for sweets either. The meringue almost felt like punishment too.

But first before any consoling can be done, Ieyasu needed second cup of coffee.


	25. reincarnation (feat. IkeSen Ieyasu Tokugawa)

Ieyasu Tokugawa never knows when it will happen.

He had been standing by the sink debating with Masamune about the practicality of growing their own garden on the roofdeck of their building. Masamune had reasoned for fresh produce for spells and cooking. Ieyasu had countered that it was exactly a chore none of them needed, what with the restaurant already enough work for three pairs of hands. When all of a sudden the morning light was too bright for Ieyasu’s eyes, the air too hot for his lungs to take.

He felt his knees buckle under him as he tried to stay upright; one hand gripping the ledge of the sink, the other gripping (extra tightly) the plate, and precariously placing it down so it would not shatter and cause more problems like his brain was causing problems like how he couldn’t hold it all together and Masamune was looking at him funny and he needed he needed –

_I will find you!_

“Ieyasu…?” Masamune sounded like he was ten feet away.

“I just need… a moment.”

_Washing heavy futons and bringing them out to the veranda to dry. A wide backyard filled with nothing but clothing lines and kimonos swaying in the wind. A hat. A balloon. A blade. A burning plane crashing towards them._

Breathe.

_Laughter and guffaws as people raced through abandoned castles. Fireworks by the lake. A huge birthday party like none of them had ever seen. A needle thrust into his arm. Fifteen needles. Screams._

Breathe.

_I will find you I will find you I will find you._

Breathe.

First through his teeth. Then through his nose. Ieyasu may not know when his episodes will happen but he knew what he needed to do when they did: keep breathing, keep breathing. Take in gulps of air as the pain that gripped him ever so slowly began to let go.

All of a sudden, he felt weightless and realized that Masamune was carrying him, saying some gibberish Ieyasu could neither hear nor understand. He tried to make him stop, tried to tell the idiot that he was just fine, he did not need any special treatment, that  _this_  – him falling to the floor with no apparent cause or reason – was just his usual.

Ieyasu was just remembering a bit of his past lives, after all.

+

The first time he had experienced it, Ieyasu thought he had gone mad.

It had been lifetimes past, during a minor scuffle; adolescent teasing turned into a semi-serious contest of who could knock the other one out faster before the adults could intervene. He could remember the half-circle that formed around him. The jeers. The taunting. His own labored breathing and the way his nose was dribbling blood.

The way the other child spat at him and made indecent gestures towards where he should place his head and for how long. He had taken it all in stride. But the other child had spat again, this time on the names of his friends who lost and were nursing their bruises behind the line. That had not gone down so well.

Ieyasu, even when he had temporarily forgotten himself, always did have a particular kind of temper.

He had shouted something equally indecent, taking two thunderous steps to approach his opponent close enough for a punch. But just as he was about to connect his vision blurred.

The kid before him was no longer just a kid but had somehow grown into an adult. No,  _two_  adults. Three. A dozen. A hundred. A mass of bodies before him suddenly, impossibly so. And he was no longer just a child but a grown man. And he was no longer just holding out his fists but a sword that he gripped like it was his lifeline and which he swung and twirled and used like an extension of his arm.

The soldiers before him swarmed him but he fended them off, his body moving almost on its own, his steps measured and exacting to keep him upright. For how long he was fighting, he did not know, could not tell. Only that he needed to ward them off, only that he needed to buy time until –

“Ieyasu! Here!!”

_Who?_

“I’m coming!!”

A hand grabbing his shoulder and pulling him backwards tore him from his vision; one moment he was valiantly defending his keep, the next he was being shoved down on the ground, the screams of dying men fading to give way to the delighted screams of children having seen their first real fight.

“Get a grip,  _Ieyasu_!” someone shouted at someone else but the slap was all his and his cheek burned for it; for a moment, he felt the same warm sensation in his chest rising up, felt the hilt of a katana in his hands where there was nothing but air and –

Another slap. Harder this time, and his vision focused on his playmate – no, a man now – holding him. A very familiar face with raven hair and red eyes. A friend. A comrade. An almost brother.

Not a soldier trying to betray him. Not a spy sneaking into his chambers and trying to kill him.

“Kotaro!” the man shouted at him, and the children around them were fleeing now and some were crying. What was he thinking making a scene surrounded by children? “No,  _Ieyasu_!”

The name felt like a hard blow to his chest, pushing him down. Ieyasu’s vision blurred again. And he had gripped the arm holding him as memories he had never experienced flooded into his mind – memories no fifteen year old boy should have any right remembering.

Too much scenarios. Too much experience. Too much  _life._  He writhed in agony and the hand on his shoulder both kept him down and held him up as he struggled.

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. One moment he was a boy, ignorant and innocent and powerless, wanting to prove his own worth against a world that spat on commoners, and then the next moment he was a conqueror, a ruler of clans. And he knew things; he remembered things so different and stark against his own – truer? more recent? – memories.

He felt his jaw hurt. He felt his arms and legs hurt. He felt like his entire body was being crushed under the weight and the gaze of something judging him from heavens and something else scratching the back of his skull. And all of these caused by the two differing visions he could see at the same time.

Two sets of memories that seemed to blend and mix together. Two sets of memories that fought inside his brain to be recognized as reality. Two sets of memories that hurt. Two sets of memories that made him feel  _hurt_.

“Stay awake.” The friend he could not yet quite remember urged him. “Stay with me. It’ll pass. I’ve seen you do this before.”

Ieyasu struggled and could only barely bite down on his agony, hoping through tears that the man was right. And as he screamed through phantom pain, as he shouted and struggled and tried his damndest to make sense of things as quickly as a fifteen year old boy could, an unsettling and frightening sense of certainty slowly overcame him and told him that the set of polar opposite memories both undeniably belonged to him.

+

Ieyasu does not know if he will ever stop having these visions.

But to be honest,  _vision_  was not the proper term. It was more a recollection, a remembering of things gone by.  But if he was already being exacting, it was also not just a simple matter of recollecting either.

It was more a sensation in his skull that his brain was somehow (impossibly and impractically) shifting to accommodate unearthed memories. And more often than not, it was as if his entire body was remembering what it had gone through all at once at the same time.

Pain. Joy. Sickness. Lethargy. Uneasiness. Nausea. Fear. Elation. All his wounds and all his triumphs. All his births and all his deaths. Dreams, and nightmares. A gallimaufry of emotions and sensations. He felt them all, felt himself drowning in them; the moments in which he lost his grip on reality stretching into hours and days as he re- _lived_ whatever it was the he had somehow remembered.

No one had any explanation as to why his body decided to remember everything else that came with his memories. Timeshifters were rare but his case even rarer. It was probably his own little curse. Or an equivalent price. A way to balance his talent.

Ieyasu did not want to look too closely for fear of what might look back. Some people might find the idea of not forgetting things to be of comfort. Ieyasu knows for certain those people have never really experienced what it was like to remember it all.

By the time he regained consciousness, Ieyasu was already on his bed. The room was quiet and dark. A cooling pack was on his forehead, his body weighed comfortably down by a thick blanket, and all his closest friends in the room, asleep and keeping vigil.

No, not all.

One was still missing. The one dearest to him. The one he would never stop looking for.

_I will find you! I will find you!_

_We will meet again!_

It was a bitter memory amongst sweet ones, a parting too abrupt. Like a cloth cut haphazardly into a thousand torn seams. Ieyasu knew as long as they were not complete, nothing would ever be the same. Not just their ultimate aim, which was altruistic, but also their everyday life, which was closer. More  _his_.

How long has it been since he had seen her? How long since he had been able to trace the stars on her back? How many lifetimes had passed since she had last held him in her arms as he bewailed the inescapable fact that his fate had no clear end?

Too many to count. Too many to really forget.

And as he sank back down into sleep’s embrace, Ieyasu misses her all the more. He wonders to himself yet again where she could be now, and if they could find her soon. And with his last wisps of consciousness, he wishes not for the last time, that she was there with him, in the dark, with their friends, to help blunt all the pain.


	26. Silver (feat. IkeSen Kenshin Uesugi)

Kenshin Uesugi had always expected she would leave. Eventually.

He knew it was inevitable. He knew that taking the Azuchi princess as hostage was only for a limited amount of time; that her presence was a guaranteed constant but only for so long as there was conflict between him and the Oda. With the conflict gone and all their treatises signed, there was no reason for him to keep her. No real convincing reason for her to consider an extended and indefinite stay.

So Kenshin was at a loss as to why he felt so _vexed_ when the claim for the Azuchi Princess’ return finally started.

The formalities of the Claim were initiated by one Mitsunari Ishida – a general no less – who came into Kasugayama castle bearing gifts and the inevitable news that sadly (Kenshin had rolled his eyes at that) the Azuchi Princess must be returned.

As if to purposely aggravate Kenshin further, Mitsunari had even gone beyond and above his duty, and had presented a detailed and outlined plan of their travels, with the expected time of departure and arrival back at the Oda’s main residence.

 “Her powers need to be renewed.” Mitsunari had droned on, continuing to explain the obvious. “Any extension and she would be most inconvenienced. Perhaps, mortally in danger even.”

“Watch your words, Mitsunari Ishida.” Kenshin had heard his voice before commonsense could stop him. He had sounded angry, offended. Some might have even said, a tad possessive. “Do you insinuate we have not taken care of your princess?”

Mitsunari had looked non-plussed, maybe truly apologetic. “My apologies, Lord Uesugi. I meant no offense. Only that we both know the precarious situation she is in for being too far gone from her source of power.”

Kenshin had had no answer to that.

Calculated. Meticulous. Damnably precise. Mitsunari’s answers and back-up plans had been made so that no circumstance were left unaddressed, no other endgame targeted other than the homecoming in three days time. It was plainly obvious that there was no room which Kenshin could use to argue or haggle and by the end of it, he had been left near boiling mad at how even during peaceful times, Nobunaga took advantageous measures rather than diplomatic ones.

Then again, Kenshin should have been distant; thoughts of haggling for an extended stay should never have crossed his mind. He should be impartial and uninterested. Had he not already expected her unavoidable return to the Oda? Had he not spent three years of his life bracing himself for that fact?

So why did his jaw feel tense? Why did he feel like a snake coiled taut and ready to strike? Kenshin had gnashed his teeth and had impatiently tapped his fingers on the hilt of his sword all the while, pretending he could get up and swing his sword to make a point. No one questioned the god of war.

But, _no_. Those were not the gestures and thoughts of an uninterested captor, and definitely not the emotions of a person who _knew from the very beginning this day would come._

“You said you expected this.” Shingen Takeda had leaned towards him from his shared spot in the dais as soon as Mitsunari had left the main hall. “You said you wouldn’t care.”

“I don’t.” Kenshin had snapped back while suppressing his horror that much of his true mood had managed to show. “I’m annoyed because of the provided logistics. I expected Uesugi cavalry to escort her. I prepared. And now that’s all to waste.”

Shingen’s brows rose at this, as if he had picked up something Kenshin had not even said and it had only made Kenshin’s mood dip for the worst.

“Nobunaga leaves nothing to chance.” Shingen had leaned back, waved a hand towards the gifts left behind: favorite things, precious treasures, handpicked from lands only the Oda had reach. Too generous compensation for the task of keeping a goddess and his princess safe. “You should know better than that.”

“No. He does not. And yes, I should have.” Kenshin had nothing else he could afford to say.

In the afternoon, the rest of the Oda party had arrived: two dozen armed escorts, five Oda special infantrymen, two pairs of armoured scouts, and a full rear guard.

Mitsunari Ishida had beamed at them with pride, the shadow of a boy slipping from his battle-hardened facade. He had watched with keen interest as the soldiers went into formation, pledged their allegiance to the Princess and to the Oda, before performing a salute to Uesugi’s generosity.

“Well performed.” Shingen had commented. “And excellent footwork, if I may add.”

“Thank you, Lord Shingen.” Mitsunari had been all smiles. “I have taken your advice to heart. Your compliments mean a lot to me.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen soldiers so eager to fall in line.” Yukimura Sanada, Shingen’s second, had added.

Mitsunari had waved a hand at his soldiers. “Nothing but the best for this mission. Nothing less should be spared for the Azuchi Princess’ trip back home.”

_Home._

Kenshin had ground his teeth again, realizing the group was Mitsunari’s handpicked guard. It was almost as if it was not Nobunaga Oda who was claiming the Princess back but this damnable, smiling, scheming, cunning little –

 It took every ounce of self-control, and a well-timed whisper from his most trusted ninja, for Kenshin to loosen his white-knuckled grip on his sword. Whether it was sheer anger or spite that carried him through the rest of the ceremonies, he did not know. Only that as the rest of rules of tradition were fulfilled, Kenshin had retreated to his thoughts.

But then again, what thoughts?

Too long he had repeated to himself this: Precisely because he knew there would never be a compelling reason for her to stay behind in Kasugayama, so too he had no compelling reason to go ahead and put a name on anything he felt where it concerns the Princess – other than “inconveniences”, “distractions”, little “hiccups that made his mind wander when he should be thinking of war”. Everything he had had with her, all the moments spent in her company he had long convinced himself were but temporary.

Why try to decipher any of the uncomfortable sensations he felt if he knew in the end there was nothing to come of it?

Just like wildflowers, he reasoned to himself; those had no proper names, no real identities, just whispers. They were beautiful and wonderful and terribly fleeting.  They come in spring to die in winter only to then bloom again. A breath taken then gone.

What was the use of naming and holding on to something so obviously transient?

So in all honesty, Kenshin Uesugi had never truly considered the depth of the emotions he truly harbored for the princess.

And now, he was escorting her to her palanquin. _Now_ the inevitability was coming to pass. _Now_ he felt upset and vexed beyond comprehension at the thought of the princess being _taken away_. Wildflowers plucked before they could fully bloom. Too soon, too soon.

The idea made him sick, made him angry, made him feel so unpleasantly _vulnerable_. Made him feel a deep sense of lamentation at what he had lost, what he was losing – what he had so long been too cowardly to grasp.

But he should not be so selfish.

She needed to go back, Kenshin reasoned to himself. She needed to go back to her lands and to her magic. She needed to be returned so she could live, so she could flourish, so she could regain her power to serve her people and see better days.

That he _needed_ her to stay, that he _wanted_ her to stay, was something best kept to himself.

She was just a hostage. She was just another tool used in the war.

That she had been so warm. That she had been so bright. That she had been able to pull him when other would simply let go. That she had been stubborn when others would simply be compliant.  That she had been the cause of most of his laughter. That she had been so strong, and honest, and courageous and valiant and taught him so many other things when he had thought of her as next to nothing.

That was no one’s fault but his.

“Thank you for your kindness all this while.” The Princess bowed low, at the waist just like he had taught her, then straightened back up like an arrow, taut. She was dressed as he had first seen her, in a pauper’s travelling clothes with a short sword strapped at the waist. None of Echigo’s riches were decorating her now. None of their gifts dangling from her ears or wrapping around her wrists. All traces of him gone. Not even the hairpin he had given her.

And at the thought, Kenshin’s heart sank even further.

“You take care, all right.” Shingen had taken Kenshin’s silence as an opportunity to say his own goodbyes. “Your party is more than enough to keep you safe but well, nothing wrong with blessings to leave you by.”

“I’m grateful for them.” She answered, smiling up at him, as if Shingen had not been the principle moving force behind her capture.

“You be sure to keep a healthy diet too.” Yukimura had decided to cut in as well. “No more just sake and sour plums.” He shot a look at Kenshin.

Kenshin ignored the look.

The Princess laughed. “I liked them a lot. I still do.”

“I’ll be sure to visit.” Sasuke Sarutobi said now, materializing from whatever shadow he had just been in. No doubt he had scouted as far ahead as possible to make sure their path was clear. “With the new peace treaties between Oda and Uesugi-Takeda, there’s no reason for me to be covert about it either.”

“We could have snacks at that candy store again.” She clapped her hands. “Remember that dango?”

“If there’s sweets involved, then I’m going too.” Shingen invited himself. “Yuki?”

Yukimura groaned. “Fine. Because someone has to make sure you behave yourself.”

They laughed. Kenshin wanted to join in on their merriment, be part of their group as he had always been. He wanted at the very least for their last memory to not be a burden for her to carry. But he could not find any joy in what was happening, even if it was the promise of happier and peaceful days spent under a brighter silver moon.

“Kenshin?”

Her voice pulled at him like the moon to waves and Kenshin looked at her looking at him, a little bit worried, a little bit something else behind her silver eyes.

Kenshin’s throat tightened with emotion and need to lock her up again, refuse any help, destroy all evidence of good will and make war once again just so he could have the semblance of an excuse for her to –

“I want you to stay,” he began, his voice wrung with emotions. First, relief, at the realization of what exactly he was feeling. Second, and more so, that particular emotion that gutted his innards and twisted them.

Grief. He was grieving this end. Inevitable. Unavoidable. Inconceivably painful. He did not want this. He did not want to partake in any of this.

He should have known from the very start that wildflower roots run deep. And once they had taken to the land, they knew no other.

_But she needed to go back_ , he reminded himself again. She needed to go back so she could live. He needed to let her go before she died in her cage like how –  

“I want you to stay.” Kenshin repeated, the pain in his chest making him throw away all sense of self-preservation that had kept him alive in the battlefield. “But I know you have to go back. I do not want this but it needs to be done.”

“Is that for me or for you?” She asked gently, taking his hand.

Kenshin opened his mouth, closed it. Took a lifetime to respond. “I don’t know.” He finally said, his voice barely a whisper.

Somewhere during the time it was taking him too long to answer, everyone else seemed to have suddenly given them space. They were conversing as if in private now, Mitsunari Ishida (the damnable smile still in place) had even turned away and left them in peace.

“You avoided me the past few days.” She said. “You never came to visit me in my room.”

“You were saving stamina for the trip. I didn’t want to be a burden.” Kenshin answered.

“I see.” Her tone told Kenshin she did not believe him. He did not expect her to. He had spent the past few days hovering in front of her room, passing it by, taking a longer route just so he could spare it a glance. But never truly asked if he could come in.

He did not want to see her room being emptied, did not want to see the trunks being loaded with everything she owned, did not want to strike up a conversation about how he felt about this.

How she felt about it all.

 “And yet here you are saying you want me to stay.”

Kenshin swallowed before answering. “I do.”

Her lips tugged upward at some memory. “Sasuke told me you were near ballistic during the turnover. Said something about an offense…?” She prompted.

“There was insinuation against my honor.” Kenshin remembered and felt angry again. “That I might not have taken care of you.”

She giggled and Kenshin wanted to bottle up the sound for him to keep. “That’s not what Mitsunari said.”

Kenshin clicked his tongue. “That’s what I heard.”

“The reason I was waiting because I have something to give you.” She let go of his hand to produce something from her sleeve.  It was a small charm sewn in bright blue and silver fabric, Uesugi colors, with a bright red thread forming the shape of a bird.

Kenshin recognized it instantly but had barely formed the words of protest on his lips when the Princess had already placed it in his hands, closed his palms over it.

“A goddess’ hair is a powerful thing.” Kenshin said, thoughts reflexively going to tactics, to war. “Do you even understand – ?”

“That is not its only purpose.” She kept her eyes trained on their hands clasped together. “It means something else.”

Kenshin pressed his mouth into a thin line, wondered if it was safe to let loose what he had kept so long inside him. Wondered if she would drown. If both of them would.

“I return you to the Oda as the day I found you.” Kenshin said instead and he did his best to ignore the way her shoulders stiffened at him hastening their parting. “Not a hair on your head harmed. Not a sliver of skin taken which was not freely given. Not your power or your soul fragmented. I return you as I found you.”

“All good will, prosperity, and blessings be upon you, Lord Kenshin Uesugi.” She chanted the proper words back. “For you have returned me as you have found me and have not harmed me or done me ill will. I am going back whole, safe. Unharmed. Tended to with the best you have to offer. Loved.” She looked at him and her eyes shone. “Loved in the way you knew how.”

Kenshin swallowed a wail and wondered with the way her shoulders were quivering, if she hated him too.

Hated him for not speaking his mind until the very end. Hated him for not doing something to prevent this. Hated him for not parting with a better memory to reminisce. Not with a banquet. Not with a promise for the future. Not even one last night to drink under the stars from which she was named after. Hated him for keeping it all inside because he was nothing but afraid.

She did not need to. He hated himself enough for both of them.

“You haven’t failed, Kenshin Uesugi.” She smiled at him now, that same patient smile she always wore when he was being difficult. “You haven’t let me die the same way as Isehime. You haven’t let anyone die in vain, if at all. I just wish you’d see that too.” Then without giving him time to say anything else, she turned away.

Kenshin did not chase her. Had Kenshin been a little less stronger, he would have dropped on his knees and begged her all over again to stay. But he was not and he did not.

It took all his strength to stay and watch her palanquin until it disappeared into the horizon. All the while Kenshin gripped the charm like it was a lifeline. Part of him wanted to ride his mare and bring her back. Part of him was relieved that finally, she could grow strong again and live life better again.

But all of him, every single fiber of his being, missed her, _craved_ her being with him. And not for the last time did he wish he was a god of something else – _anything else_ – that could keep her safe. Could keep her _safe_.

It was past midnight by the time Kenshin could be ushered by Sasuke to go back into the castle. Kenshin was not sure. Time was suddenly hazy, a concept foreign to him. It was only time he had spent with her, and the time he was now spending without her.

Kenshin Uesugi raised his eyes towards the sky, his eyes searching for the stars she had so often pointed out as her favorites. But no matter how long he stared or how much his tears tried to rinse him of all his sorrow, he could not see them.  None of them were there tonight.

And neither was she. Not anymore.


	27. just a bit of an FYI

Hello!

Just a head’s up that a few months back, I have learned how to make a proper “series” here in AO3, and as such this will be the last chapter here. I will be discontinuing updating this work and will post all subsequent pieces for my 182 separately.

Thank you so much for the views and the kudos! It means a lot to me that people are interested and reading my work! ﾟ*｡(･∀･)ﾟ*｡

**Author's Note:**

> My aim is to write exactly one hundred and eighty-two mini fics/oneshots in different geners and POVs in my attempt to write myself (forcibly, with tears if i have to) out of writer's block. Ever since getting a full-time job, i've had a lot less time to write. this is my way to make sure i still get creative.
> 
> everything is posted first on my tumblr(ythmir-writes), and then re-posted here (a few days later) for a wider audience. i do not have any other website/social media account in which i post my works. please respect copyright :>
> 
> i am still OPEN to receiving prompts for this series. Please direct all requests to my tumblr. (send in a chara [MidCin, IkeSen, SLBP (not all the lords, and just Masanari), HypMic, IkeVamp] + a word and i will write something out of it. No guarantees to length, genre or POV)


End file.
